Risen: Adura and Chinr
by Sanctuaria
Summary: Staria and Veyna have been friends since the moment they first met, but now they are going their separate ways: Staria on a abruptly cut off mission to find the last of the Ra'zac eggs, Veyna past the boundaries of life on Gedwëy Evarínya as she knows it and into previously uncharted waters. Sequel to Fallen: Istalri and Nuaen.
1. Prologue: Xiana's POV

**Hi all! Welcome to the sequel of Fallen: Istalri and Nuaen. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything taken from the Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini in this story. No copyright infringement is intended.**

Prologue

Xiana's POV

She stood alone, at the top of the hill; for no one knew she was there. The world was quiet and still. No leaves rustled in the trees or wisps of wind curled across the grass. Just as the sun began to come up from the horizon, blessing the woods with a sparkling brilliance, a single bird echoed out its call through the forest. A few seconds later, another, far off toward the mysterious Crags of Tel'nair, answered it. Soon the forest was alive with the chorus of chirping birds, eagerly welcoming the morning. So it was in Taíthos, as it was in the rest of Du Weldenvarden.

Once the sun had risen fully above the horizon, the girl hastened to the leafy home where she lived. If her father, Toseir, knew she had been out that early, she would be dead. But he didn't know, for he, like so many other elves, had left a long time ago to fight in Islanzadí Dröttning's army. The last missive to Ellesméra, the major city just a league away, had only said they would begin to storm Urû'baen that day. Even though her father was at war, her mother would be sure to report her insubordination to him as soon as he returned.

He had not allowed her to fight, and for this she was angry at him. "Your swordsmanship is not good enough," he would tell her, "and your archery rather mediocre." That had been two weeks before he left, and in those weeks she had worked vigorously at both these skills. In the end, however, he still denied her request saying, at the age of twelve, she was too young to go into battle. Her mother had agreed with him wholeheartedly on that fact. So she was stuck here, in Taíthos, instead of helping Shur'tugal Eragon and Bjartskular Saphira in their quest to overthrow Galbatorix. But no matter. She would prove herself to her father, one day.

Xiana picked up the bow her father had fashioned for her and strung it easily. She searched for something to aim at, but nothing came to mind. Finally she alighted upon an old dead stump with a knob in the middle. She drew back the bowstring and experienced the familiar twang that came off sending the projectile flying through the air at an alarming rate. The arrow embedded itself at the very edge of the knot, not in the middle like she had hoped. She retrieved it and nocked it again, for she had only one arrow. Originally, her mother had sung three arrows from the tree, but only one remained in Xiana's quiver. The first had got stuck high in a tree, and then, before Xiana could compose a spell to get it down, a strange raven with pure white feathers snagged it in his beak, and, after several tries, flew off with it in his beak. The second had been a foolish shot when she was little, and had flown almost straight up. The wind gusted then, and it had been blown away. She shot again and was pleased to find that it had hit the center exactly. Her third shot was not so fortunate, however; it missed the knot entirely and buried itself several inches to the right.

"Xiana," her mother called.

"I'm here," Xiana responded as Neyä touched her mind. Shouts and cries broke the peaceful tranquility of the forest. Neyä came out of the house with a worried expression on her face, but soon realized the cries were of great jubilation, not sorrow. "Shruikan is dead!" the elves proclaimed, "Galbatorix is king no more!" Cheers went up, which Neyä and Xiana joined joyfully. The war was over, and soon her father would return home.

Two Months Later

Xiana paced, the soft grass tickling the soles of her bare feet. Almost two months had passed since the news of Galbatorix's downfall had reached Taíthos. Arya Dröttning had accepted her title of Queen, as was her right. Though all were much saddened by the loss of Islanzadí, there had never been a time of more rejoicing. Arya had brought with her a green dragon egg of their very own, the last in Galbatorix's castle.

Many elves were also returning from the battle, but Toseir had yet to return. They all were returning home, laying down their weapons, and reverting to playing with the subtle nuances of the world. Finally, so late that Neyä feared it would never happen, her father came back.

His face was as serene and fearless as she remembered it being. In one hand, he grasped his spear. In the other, his shield across his chest. His eyes were closed, unblinking, and his body was completely still as two grim-faced warriors carried him past in a silver casket.

Xiana turned away, vowing silently that she would fulfill all of his expectations and more. She would not fail him. There was nothing she could do better than revenge.

**Thanks for reading! Back to Kyra and Veyna next!**


	2. Stolen Body: Veyna's POV

"I can't believe we're back in Ellesméra," Veyna commented.

"I can't believe Eragon let us come back here with all the chaos on Gedwëy Evarínya this past year," Kyra exclaimed.

"Come on, given what's happened, it's really not that bad," replied Veyna. "The island of the Riders was oblivious to twelve of their own trying to revert dragons to the wild. Obviously Eragon has some big changes to make."

"You'd think, being the ones who actually _talked_ to that mad Shade Rasib, he'd kinda need us for the whole prevention side of it," Kyra sighed.

"Are you complaining?" Veyna asked incredulously.

"Nope, just saying."

"We are also kind of on a mission," Veyna pointed out. "Our cousin's been researching the Ra'zac forever."

"That's not a mission, that's a favor for Staria," Kyra laughed.

"True," agreed Veyna.

A female elf walked out of the tree-house they were standing in front of. She wore tawny leggings and a soft blue tunic, a knife belted at her waist. She pushed her silver hair out of the way of the scroll she was poring over absentmindedly. As their talking ceased, she looked up, eyes widening in recognition.

"Kyra? Veyna?" she asked, surprised.

"Hello, Xiana," answered Kyra with a smile.

"I thought you two were still on Gedwëy Evarínya!" Xiana exclaimed, laughing and hugging each of the twins enthusiastically.

"Eragon sent us here for a visit," Kyra replied. "Are you still researching the Ra'zac?"

"Yes, although the going is slow. Are the Riders taking an interest in them?"

"If you mean interest as in exterminating them, yes." Veyna's thoughts were briefly interrupted by a snatch of Istalri lugging off the carcass of a deer.

Once they were seated at the table in Xiana's home, their cousin asked, "Where are your dragons?"

"They're hunting on the fringes of Du Weldenvarden," Veyna answered.

"Ah. So, what did you want to know?"

"Let's start with how you heard of the Ra'zac in the first place," suggested Kyra.

"That's a long story," Xiana began, "and one I don't like to repeat. It all started after the Battle of Urû'baen. My father left with the other elves to fight in Ceunon, but he wouldn't let me accompany him, much to my chagrin. I was only twelve at the time, but I desperately wanted to fight for the dragons and the legendary Eragon." She paused, composing her thoughts. "My father, Toseir, died at the hands of Lord Barst, as we learned two months later. He was encased, with his spear and shield, in a silver casket. Before we could pay our respects and bury him with an elm tree over his chest, his body was stolen and found mutilated days later. The body looked like it had been mostly…devoured, though none of the elves around had sensed any kind of mind that could inflict that kind of damage. I moved to Ellesméra the next year and began to study any creature that could do such a thing. It was then that I chanced upon the horrific tales of the Ra'zac."

"Ah," Veyna understood. "Have you learned anything pertaining to the remaining eggs' location?"

"Some." Xiana shifted the pile of scrolls atop her desk. "It's all just guesswork, but I think we can rule out Dras Leona, Gil'ead, and Melian."

"Why Dras Leona?" Kyra questioned. "Wasn't that the place they were located last time?"

"I believe Galbatorix wouldn't have put all of his eggs in one basket," Xiana smirked, "except if that basket was his great castle in Urû'baen. The rest of the cities are too exposed. As far as we know, he only entrusted the offspring to Dras Leona—which is in the middle of the Empire—because the Ra'zac were there to protect and watch over them."

"That still leaves a lot of cities," Veyna leaned over a detailed map of Alagaësia on the table.

"Sorry I don't have anything more for you. It's all very murky—most don't survive a glance at these creatures, much less scrupulous research and study."

"It's okay; what you do have will be very helpful," Veyna smiled. "Those are big cities to search for something whose mind you can't detect."

Xiana dipped her head and the twins bade their leave. They spent the next day catching up with old friends, especially Faeín, who they had known since childhood. Though they avoided all talk of Rasib, it still seemed slightly awkward that the last time he had seen Veyna she had been going into a battle she might not return from. On the last day they said goodbye to their parents and took off to return to Gedwëy Evarínya.

…

"Again, thanks so much for asking for me," replied Staria. "This will be amazingly helpful."

Veyna smiled and tacked the map on the wall next to her friend's. Staria immediately began crossing out cities and writing scribbled notes by others. While she was working, Veyna took a look at the other side of the map. "Why have you not crossed out Furnost and Eoam? You think Galbatorix could have hidden eggs in Surda too?"

"They weren't part of the original Surda," Staria responded, not even looking up from her work. "Queen Nasuada gave them to King Orrin after the Battle of Urû'baen."

"You're right! I totally forgot that Surda used to be much smaller."

"It's funny how perspectives change through generations…" Staria finished the last part of the map and stepped back. "Okay, Eragon wants me to leave as soon as possible, so I'll head to Narda tomorrow. Will you be here when I get back?"

"I don't know; Eragon's putting me on assignment, but I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"Okay." Staria glanced out onto the balcony, smirking slightly at her sapphire dragon.

"What?" Veyna asked.

"Nothing." Staria climbed into her bed and turned off the light. "Goodnight!"

"…Goodnight," said a bewildered Veyna.


	3. Home of the Werecats: Staria's POV

**Greetings!**

After long monotonous days of sitting in the saddle, Staria was glad when Adura finally landed outside the city of Narda. They had talked most of the way, but halfway through it had appeared that they had run out of things to talk about. Did other Riders have that problem? She had been with Adura almost constantly from the day she'd hatched, so her life was no secret to her. Sure, in training they had been apart for lengths of time, but there is a limit to how many times you can successfully bring up the topic of observing wind patterns and have the other person not fall asleep. And, of course, since thoughts fly much faster than words, they exhausted topics at an increased rate.

So it was with much relief that they landed in the outskirts of Narda, the silhouette dark against the setting sun. The next morning she got up and stretched, having let Adura sleep while she kept watch.

Staria surreptitiously checked that Wydra, the blade that hung at her left hip, was secure before unfastening her belt and holding it out to her sapphire dragon. Adura took the parcel gently in her mouth and nestled it under one wing. Placing her hand on the dragon's snout but concentrating on herself, Staria murmured a spell in the Ancient Language to make her appear human—and thus inconspicuous. She patted Adura's nose and glanced down at the unfamiliar—but not uncomfortable—skirt she wore. Her golden dagger was snug underneath, along with a small gem of power hidden in her boot.

She set off for Narda at a slower pace than she would have liked, but the city was only a half mile away. Staria reached the outskirts taking note of the plumes of smoke rising from many of the chimneys. As she approached, she saw a sign had been posted there. It read "Welcome to Narda." A new slab of wood had been placed over it, however, obscuring the first few letters of "Welcome." Dug out in this new piece were the words "Home of the Werecats." The pole for the sign teetered dangerously in the wind; it looked as if it had been used one too many times as somebody's scratching post.

Staria laughed softly to herself as the approached the main gate. "Business?" asked the guard, lifting the cover of his helm to look at her more carefully.

"I'm here to see family," Staria replied sweetly.

The man stepped back, letting his visor slip back down over his face. "As long as you cause no trouble, you're welcome in Narda," he said in a friendly way.

"Thank you," Staria answered as she made her way past.

For the time of the morning, many people were out and about, most of them selling food and wares under bright overhangs. She saw no sign of any werecats except for a flash of fiery orange near the fresh fish booth. She walked along the street, chatting with various people and merchants, buying trinkets here and there to coax more information out of them and enforce her masquerade as a visitor. A weary old man named Aten knew of a very old rundown cathedral just south of the town. All the while, Staria heard not one thought of the Ra'zac. Nor did she hear the subtle signs of hidden speech by an unknown magician.

Staria was vaguely aware of Adura's flight to the wreckage as she entered a small library. These had cropped up everywhere in the last ten years, thanks to Nasuada's reign. Though she perused the shelves thoroughly, she found no mention of the Lethrblaka.

A jolt of alarm panicked Staria. Her eyes closed, seeing the world through another set, the blue hues more pronounced than in her own vision. The creature in front of Adura sniffed the air. It scuttled backward, but not before Adura pounced. The beaked creature's exoskeleton shattered under the weight of the dragon.

Staria returned to herself, heart still pounding. Adura's communication came a second later. _There's only one. I searched the place top to bottom before that one jumped me while I was scaling the outside. It must have snuck up onto the roof._

_Why didn't it run?_

_I suspect no one had ever taught it that I was a threat. _Adura licked some of the green goop off of her claw. _From its size, that Ra'zac was very young._

_Will we ever find them all? _Staria wondered. _This one was the seventh one the Riders have found over the years, plus another five eggs smashed. How many of these things could Galbatorix have possibly had?_

Adura did not answer her question, but said: _This one had no caretakers, which is why you could not glean information from the minds of the townspeople. No one knew it was here. _

_It was likely abandoned after Galbatorix fell, _agreed Staria. _As soon as he wasn't there to reward them richly, they weren't going to risk their lives caring for a bloodthirsty Ra'zac. _

_They were not of the religion Tosk, _Adura commented.

_He must have run out of believers to keep the eggs._

_A religion that requires you to cut off body parts must not have been very popular, _Adura said dryly.

_How far away is the cathedral? _Staria asked.

_Not far. Three dragon-lengths from the edge of the city._

_So you were seen?_

_Yes._

Staria took a deep breath and let the spell go that was masking her features. _So much for stealth._

_Sorry._

_Not your fault._

_Ours was a very jump-then-fall plan._

_What?_

_It could have gone very wrong._

_Oh. Yeah, in retrospect…_

Staria exited the library after removing her skirt to reveal the leggings she wore underneath. She ignored the stares of the passerby at her pointed ears and her sculpted cheekbones and made a beeline for Adura.

The blue-hued dragon greeted her with a welcoming spurt of flame to one side. The people of Narda, however, had not run away but were watching her from the doorways to their houses with wide eyes. Though she had not planned to, Staria felt like she must say something. For all they knew, she was here to pillage their homes or strike down their beloved ruler of the city. But even though it was not forbidden, Staria got the feeling that announcing her hunt for the Ra'zac would only hinder her quest. So she silently mounted Adura, who took off with a whoosh of her wings for the next city.

**Until next time! Adios! **


	4. Let the Games Begin: Veyna's POV

**Hi all! Sorry for such a long non-update time! Happy Holidays and Happy New Year!**

The scroll on her desk was rolled neatly, closed with the seal of the Empire. _The Empire?_ Veyna wondered. Istalri touched her snout to it.

_It must be important_, Istalri murmured.

Veyna carefully removed the seal from the paper and opened the letter.

_Veyna of the House Rílvenar, _

_Atra esterní ono thelduin. It is my great honor to request your presence at the annual imperial games as the ambassador for the Shur'tugalar. The games will be held two weeks from now, near the city of Ilirea. We shall expect you on that day after having received your letter of confirmation. _

_Sincerely,_

_Odran Harinson_

_Imperial Minister of the Games_

The letter was stamped with the Empire's stamp and held the Riders' as well—Eragon had approved this assignment. Perhaps he had even suggested her for the position.

Veyna grinned at Istalri. "Staria knew about this, didn't she?"

_Adura hinted as well._

"I wonder who the dragon representative is…"

0==]=======

The crowd could only be described as loud, boisterous, and completely at ease. The large stadium had originally been designed to house each race in a different section, but on general consensus the individual banners were removed. All of the races save the dragons were intermingled, talking, laughing, and placing bets. Far below, on the games floor, the fifty-four contestants warmed up with stretches, the Rimgar, and meditation on the part of the elves.

Istalri angled downward towards the high podium overlooking the stadium. It was attached to the topmost tier of the stadium hanging fifty feet in the air above the arena floor. The thin structures supporting it didn't inspire confidence in Veyna. Its design was obviously magic-dependent; the poles would snap and break otherwise. Around them, seven other dragons flitted around, five of which were wild. Istalri landed lightly on the unstable platform, letting out a puff of smoke as she surveyed the arena.

_It's about to start,_ warned Istalri.

Right on cue, Queen Nasuada walked out of her royal tent. The queen was dressed in a similar color, but her black hair was held in a knot behind her head. Though she could not use magic, her words were magnified beyond their normal volume. "Greetings, people of Alagaësia," she greeted them. Cheers broke out as the crowd settled into their seats, all too anxious to get started. "As always, we have five representatives for each race, so let me introduce them! For the humans: Roran!" The roars of the crowd intensified then. Looking down, Veyna spotted the smiling man surrounded by his wife and daughter. "For the dwarves: Íorûnn!" A loud host of clapping exploded from a particularly tight group of dwarves, although beings from the other races applauded politely as well. "For the Urgals: Uxog!" Another rage of cheering ensued, along with a lot of head butting and horn-locking. "For the elves: Vanir!" Hundred of melodic voices rose in song. "For the Riders: Veyna! And, last but not least, on behalf of the dragons: Sinta, with her Rider Shaiku speaking on her behalf!" The cheering, Veyna could see, was equally enthusiastic for all six groups, but even her elf ears could not pick it up over the noise of the dragons for the last two. Streams of fire ignited over her head, the colorful beings diving, swooping, and showing off their agility and the splendor of their scales. "And now, I declare the games begun!" With a flourish of her skirts, Nasuada sat down in her high backed chair to watch the festivities.

The announcer took over as Veyna felt her throat tingling. It was an unpleasant experience and she silently berated herself; if that had been an enemy spell she would have had no counterattack. She needed to be more alert.

_Relax, _Istalri advised.

_Sorry, just nervous,_ replied Veyna.

"All of our four-and-fifty contestants have trained for this event the entire year!" the announcer began. "However, the information they wait for most of all: the nature of this year's games! This year…we have a team tournament! This differs a lot from last year, where…" The man went on to describe how last year the teams had been based on interspecies teamwork but this year they were pitting race against race. Veyna wondered how that could be fair, as the dragons in the air and elves on the ground could not be matched for speed. "We introduce the contestants!"

Vanir, the elven ambassador to the Empire who was also serving as representative for his race in these games, started off, naming nine names, only one of which she recognized: Faeín. Eragon's cousin Roran went next: another nine names, including his daughter, Ismira. Íorûnn, a female dwarf wearing a wolf mask even in the heat of the day, introduced her contestants as well. Uxog bellowed his out, and then it was Veyna's turn. Her voice came out loud and crisp, her ears smarting from the volume of the words coming out of her mouth as she read off the list of names, recognizing them all. "…Sern, Everett, Curf, Kito, and Sorrell."

With a sigh of relief, she looked across the stadium at the figure and his dragon opposite her. Staria and Adura's mentors seemed perfectly comfortable speaking in front of crowds, like they had done this before. Shaiku quickly recited off the nine dragons—including both of Istalri's parents, Celestí and Trayim—in a smooth voice.

The announcer took over once more, explaining to rules to new spectators and assuring the crowd all of the contestants had sworn oaths against cheating the in the Ancient Language. The crowd was becoming less respectful and louder, impatient for it to begin. Veyna looked for Celestí's distinctive silver shimmer as the human introduced the first competition—a deceptively simple race to collect the golden flag at the other end of the field. No magic would be allowed, and only two selected from each team would participate. After a few moments of discussion, twelve players stepped forward and the representatives announced their names. They took their positions behind the starting line, the two dragons taking up more than half of the space. The golden flag was hoisted at the other end at eye level.

"Three…two…one…" Everyone leaned forward in their seats. "Go!" The elves sprinted off, making the humans, Urgals, and dwarves behind them look like they were running in slow motion. By the time the other contestants had reached the middle of the field, the dragon team was fireballing the first two elves from the air. Though protected by numerous wards, the elves landed flat on their backs. Cutting off the stream of fire, the closest dragon snatched at the golden flag in front of him—only to have it disappear in a flash of blue light and reappear at the starting line. Had one of the contestants cheated? No—Veyna could see them now, a whole section of magicians, with multicolored swirls of magic floating around them in her mind's eye. The game just got a whole lot trickier.

With a savage roar, the dragons spun in midair swooping across the field. The four elves—two fellow Riders, two regular—by now had recovered and were gaining on the humans and dwarves ahead of them. The two Urgals were in the lead, however, but the first hadn't so much as closed his giant fist around it when it was transported instantaneously to the side of the stadium. It took a minute for the players to locate the devilish trophy, but as soon as they had, they were off again. Istalri found the whole thing immensely amusing.

_They're like rabbits, jumping around from hole to hole, _said the emerald dragon.

Veyna laughed. _Maybe you should hunt them. _

_Maybe I shall._

Contrary to Veyna's belief that this game could go on forever, the players were beginning to catch on. Communicating with no words, the four elves each loped to one end of the arena, the two from Du Weldenvarden seeming to be working together with the Riders. As they had seen earlier, the dragons kept no such bonds, ignoring the Riders as if they didn't exist. Well, at least they didn't try to fry them too.

The Urgals, however, seemed as clueless as ever. The two ran straight at each other, the flag between them, as if they were hoping to skewer it on their horns. Instead, they flew right into each other, the flag vanishing from sight. The elves looked around expectantly, but the flag appeared directly in the middle of the field, where the dwarf closest grabbed it with his free hand. He raised it above his head, the crowd roaring its approval.

The next two events got an Urgal and a human winner. The Urgal won in the most dangerous-seeming competition defeating the elves by a margin in a one-on-one wrestling match, as the dragons could not compete. Per usual, the tumble had a new twist—the two had to wrestle atop a flying dragon and force the other off. Veyna and the other Riders knew how hard that could be—the dragons' scales were slippery and their muscles twisted and contorted beneath their skins, threatening to throw any non-properly seated Rider off. The Urgal's horns gave him an advantage, as he locked them around the foreleg of the dragon and thus was not thrown off. After that, he kicked the surprised elf and sent him falling toward the ground, then stood and proclaimed his victory.

The human had won at the swimming contest, the tangling kelp trapping the elves, vicious fish taking care of the rest. The human had only escaped by pulling another player in front of him to distract the fish. The contestants were unharmed, but some of their clothing was a bit tattered.

The next contest, however, had less to do with athletic abilities, and all forms of magic—save for harming the opponents—were allowed. All of the team got together to perform one open-ended task: to build a tree that a champion from each team could not climb. Points were awarded based on how many people were not able to scale your tree and how many trees you were able to scale. After having selected their tree-climbing "champions" to sit and watch, the six groups retreated to their sections of the arena.

Veyna found it interesting that the elves—who were notorious for their slow-moving politics and general way of life—were the first to begin. Taking the saplings that had been provided, they began to grow them into their desired shape, singing beautifully in the Ancient Language. The dragons, however, Veyna thought by far the most amusing to watch.

It was forbidden for outsiders to give clues or suggestions to the contestants, but Istalri remained a constant presence in her mother's mind, watching and learning. It appeared that Celestí did not mind, in fact, she worked all the harder because of it. After several failed attempts at carving stick pillars from the wood available—which earned many of them tongue-splinters, the dragons finally took positions in a circle around a sapling planted in the ground and stared at it unblinkingly.

Connected as she was to Istalri's mind, she knew, unlike most, what the dragons were trying to do. Their minds were one, focused, drawing up all their anger and would-be-humiliation if they were to lose the entire competition. Drawing on that, their power shared, they hoped to work an act of magic. What the magic was, Veyna was not sure. It was unlike anything she had seen before, and, as it was translated between them in images and feelings, she could not ascertain its purpose. Istalri was no help either; Veyna could feel her excitement but she would say nothing but _you'll see. _

It went on for several minutes of this, until finally—_crack!_ A tree, instead of growing from the sapling at a faster rate, seemed to burst from the top of it, growing taller and taller until it rivaled that of the elves' and dwarves'. As a single entity, the dragons reared, spewing fire onto the tree so that flames swirled around it, eating up the bark at a very slow pace but leaving the inside untouched. Every champion but theirs looked apprehensive at the sight of it.

The announcer called time, and Veyna watched the human Rider—Sorell?—begin to scale the dwarven "tree," made entirely of polished stone. It worked to their advantage that it was very slippery, but nevertheless the persistent Shur'tugal struggled his way to the top. He also climbed the elf, human, and Urgal trees with little difficulty, though he had been poked by many thorns trying to best the Urgals. When he got to the dragon's, however, he had to drop out.

The dwarf champion sat gnashing his teeth at the base of the smooth elven trunk, having fallen on his butt too many time to count already. The dwarves ended up with no points, much to their disappointment.

The dragons, it seemed, would win this competition. Using his long claws and digging into the tree, Trayim scaled even the elf tree, although the tree was mostly in tatters by the time he was done with it. Trayim's claws could find no purchase or break through the smooth stone, though, and he broke his perfect record.

The Urgal successfully made it up most of the trees by burying is horns in the trunk and hauling the rest of his body up, but, like the Rider, was stymied by the dragon's pillar of fire. The elf seemed to have the easiest time of it, and the entire audience leaned forward in their seats as he slowly approached the flaming tree. No magic was allowed in this section of this contest, only in the making of the trees, but the elf apparently didn't need it. In one smooth bound, he leapt up onto the tree, missing burning himself by jumping again almost instantaneously. In four long jumps, the elf scaled the fiery monster and thus earned the first victory for the elves.

The next was a discus throwing, in which the elves', though light and airy, simply blew apart and the Urgals' proved crudely made, as it spiraled off and narrowly missed colliding with the box of spellcasters. The dwarves again won, their gemstone disc being expertly cut and wielded with precision and force.

Veyna then lost track of everything happening after that—a blur of victories: dragons, humans, Riders, dwarves, elves, elves, Riders again, dwarves for the fourth time, and then dragons again. The award presentation ceremony was nice, a tribute from each race was given, and cheers went up all around. She herself presented a tribute on behalf of the Riders to the winners, a dragon of silver and carefully placed rubies for the scales and eyes. The dwarf leader accepted all the gifts and trophies graciously, and even though they didn't win it was still more fun than she'd had in a long time.

Soon after Nasuada dismissed the ceremony, Veyna expected the crowd to disperse and was surprised to find that not only were the games a prestigious athletic event, they were a social party as well. She chatted with various people of consequence, as well as people who seemed to be just farmers who had taken their sons or daughters out here as a celebration on their coming into adulthood. Though it was odd to Veyna that they considered sixteen "adult," she shook their hand, smiled, and congratulated them all the same.

Night was falling when she eventually returned to her own camp with Istalri, who had spent the time with Celestí and Trayim and was in an especially good mood. All the Riders sat at a long table ladened with rich food and huge slabs of meat that the dragons enjoyed whacking their Riders with before devouring. Veyna talked and laughed with the others, though she barely knew them back on Gedwëy Evarínya. One in particular, the human Sorrell, was especially friendly, unlike his seemingly imperious dragon.

_She would get along well with Nuaen,_ Veyna thought.

_Either that or they'd be worst enemies,_ Istalri acknowledged.

The red dragon Vestira was only a few years older than Adura, but she was several tail-lengths larger than both of them. Her red eye watched Veyna unwaveringly, head held high. Once a smaller black dragon nipped her tail in invitation to join their game and she snapped at him harshly. Despite Vestira's temperament, Sorrell was nice and Veyna spent much of the night engaged in conversation with him.

It was late that night when Veyna awoke suddenly to a knock on her tent wall. She bolted upright in bed, only to see the lean shape of Faeín slink in quietly. "Whoa!" he whispered, holding up his hands in surrender as a flame popped into existence in her palm. Instead of hurling it at him like she'd intended, she shot it into the lantern hung at the top of the tent and it flared to life. "I just wanted to talk," Faeín explained as he sat down on the floor. "We didn't get a chance to after the havoc of the games."

Veyna curled herself into a cross-legged position. "I'd like that."

"Good." He was silent for a moment, then said, "Done much since I last saw you?"

"Not really," Veyna admitted. "Besides come here, of course."

"Why were you in Ellesméra anyway?" Faeín asked. "To see Arya Dröttning?"

"No, to talk to my cousin. It was a favor to Staria."

"Staria?" Faeín's eyebrows rose. "You're friends with her?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Nothing. Just heard some things about her, y'know?"

"What kind of things?"

"Well, she was raised by the queen…" Faeín looked distinctly uncomfortable now.

"Yeah. So?"

"Well…it's just that…some people say…maybe that's not all there is to it."

"To what?"

He took a deep breath. "Some say she's Arya's daughter."

"What? With who?" There was a pause. "Oh, _Eragon_?"

Faeín nodded, eyeing her closely for a reaction.

"That's ridiculous." Veyna was silent for several minutes. "Do you believe it?" Her voice was soft but steady.

"I don't know. It's possible." And that concluded their talk session.

**On the "posting faster" front, I've planned out all the chapters, so hopefully you'll get the next one a bit quicker this time. I've got Ch4 and Ch6 done already, so…yeah. As always, thanks so much for reading!**


	5. Herbalist Shmurbalist: Staria's POV

**Wow, two updates in one day. Winter Break is working its magic. ;)**

Veyna's image rippled in the pool of water that Staria was using to scry as a mosquito landed on its surface. Veyna had relayed her entire conversation with Faeín already, leaving Staria with a tumultuous feeling inside her stomach. "Talk to Arya or Eragon," Veyna suggested.

"Yeah, that conversation isn't awkward at all…hey, Eragon, just wondering, are you my father?" Staria answered sarcastically.

"Angela could probably help you," Veyna mused.

"Angela?" Staria queried.

"I read something about her...supposedly she uses these dragon knucklebones to tell certain peoples' futures if they accept it. She was one of the Seventeen who fought against Galbatorix. Oh, and she was the one who informed us of Rasib's past, remember?"

"Does she do her fortune-telling thing for just anyone?"

"I suppose there would be some factor differentiating those who get their fortune read and those who don't, but I have no idea what it is. But you don't even need that kind of information; just ask her if she knows where you came from."

"Thanks, Veyna. Where can I find this Angela? Is she an elf?"

"No, she's an herbalist. Rumor has it that she's living in Aberon right now, although she moves around a lot to avoid getting caught."

"What do you mean? She's a fugitive?"

"Remember that legion of spellcasters Nasuada created to watch over the rest? I think Angela refused to give up her powers or be spied upon. So now they're after her. But the likelihood of her getting caught is nil to none—she's been evading Nasuada's handpicked task force for almost twenty-five years."

"Why would she know anything about me or my past? She's just an herbalist…"

"I talked to Eragon once about her, and he mentioned her uncanny ability to know things that others try to cover up," Veyna said in an undertone.

"Thanks." Staria meant it with all her heart as her friend smiled. Waving her hand, she cut off the connection, Veyna's image disappearing from the pond's still surface.

Consulting the map of Alagaësia in her hand, she discovered that the edge Hadarac Desert lay directly between Bullridge, where she was located now, and Aberon. On her way she could keep an eye out for the Ra'zac.

0==]=======

"Business?" The bored looking guard at the gate peered at her through his bushy gray eyebrows. "Elf, are ye?" He looked her up and down, making her feel slightly uncomfortable.

"And Rider," Staria answered, flashing her silver palm at him for a quick second before hastily covering it again. "I'm here to inquire information from an old acquaintance."

At the word Rider, the guard tipped his helm and stepped courteously out of the way, studiously ignoring his indignation that a woman would wear leggings instead of a dress. Staria stepped onto the nice cobblestone road inside the gate and looked around, astounded. Quite contrary to the dreary fortified barricade surrounding the city, inside it bustled with life. In every direction, Staria could hear the children laughing, and no one seemed to fear for their child's safety as they ran in and out of shops, chasing each other around. Nothing was in a state of disrepair. Colorful banners flowed abundantly from posts, emblazoned with the seal of Surda's royal family. Every once in a while, a Nasuada banner fluttered in the breeze.

Beings of almost every race roamed the streets. Though she had left Adura on the fringes of the desert to try and blend in, she now knew it was unnecessary: in the air above her, at least two of Adura's kind swooped and dove. There were other Riders in Aberon. Even a few elves walked comfortably around, entering different shops and interacting amicably with the passerby. Nothing gave any hint to the Urgals' presence, however—Staria suspected keeping the "monsters" away was a principal duty of the guards at the gate. Over twenty-four years, mistrust and violence between the humans and the Urgals evidently had not abated at all for King Orrin.

No longer self-conscious, Staria entered the shop nearest her. It was filled with an assortment of odd things, but many people milled around, looking and buying.

"Excuse me," Staria asked the man behind the counter, "I'm looking for an herbalist named Angela?"

"Angela? Small shop on Thirteenth Street. But if you're looking for exotic wares, I have a great selection at very reasonable prices…"

"No, thank you," Staria answered, "Sorry, I'm not looking to buy."

The shop owner nodded with a friendly smile before departing to help a customer decide which dwarven gemstone would hold the most energy.

Staria exited the shop, surreptitiously glancing around even though no one even gave her a second look.

Following tidbits of directions from passerby, she soon arrived at an obscure little shop front looking out onto an equally crowded street. A few plants hung in the window, which was recently scrubbed and polished. A small bell tinkled above her head as Staria pushed open the door. Various goods were stacked neatly on shelves and tables inside; however, the store appeared to be deserted. Staria cautiously walked forward, fingering a strip of cloth claiming to be woven of Feldûnost fur. One of the cases that caught her eye was filled with small pink and red bottles. Some of them began to slosh in their containers as Staria approached, and she detected a strange but very slight loss of energy. Moving away seemed a smart idea, but she found herself instead in front of row after row of exotic plants, most of them varieties of fungi.

Staria jumped as the plush scarlet curtain was swept aside by a woman carrying a half-knitted woolen sweater in one hand, and a bowl full of liver in the other. She placed the sweater behind the counter and the bowl at the feet of a large, fluffy, ginger cat seated on a cushion atop the counter. He watched her unblinkingly. Unnerved, Staria wondered if he had been there the entire time. She hadn't noticed him at all. The woman dusted off her hands.

"Excuse me," Staria said. "Are you Angela?"

"I think so, but you can never be quite sure in these matters," Angela replied.

Staria blinked. It took her a moment to work through the intricacies of what the herbalist had said.

"What can I do for you, fair elf?" Angela asked. "I have your love potions, poisons, gemstones, fabrics, crystal balls..."

"Actually, I was just looking to ask you some questions," Staria told her, "but I might be interested in fortune telling. Do the crystal balls work?"

"No," Angela shook her head, brown curls bobbing, "just for show. Rich noble ladies and all that. I tell them it shows what they'll look like in twenty years and so they look in and see a prettier version of themselves, thanks to a handy little spell."

"Oh," was all Staria could say. This Angela person seemed to have no issue with deceiving her customers. She turned, considering leaving. Even if Angela could tell her something, who knows if it would be the truth?

_You'll never know if you don't ask._ Staria turned back, staring at the cat. He lifted one paw and began to wash it thoroughly.

Angela looked appraisingly at him. "I thought he might speak to you, just like he did Eragon."

"What's Eragon got to do with this?" Staria queried.

"He came into my shop in Teirm twenty-two years ago," answered Angela, "and I read him his fortune."

"He saw himself as prettier?"

The witch laughed. "Nay, I did for him the real thing. Solembum in spoke to you, too, so you have the choice as well."

Staria paused. This was more than she had bargained for. Besides, she wanted to know about her past, not her future. But the cat—who must be a werecat—had said to ask.

"I would," Staria said softly, then louder, "I would like to hear my fortune."

"Then come this way." Angela ushered her into the darker, more secluded portion of the shop hidden behind the curtain. She rummaged around in her stores before pulling out a velvet sack. She sat down in front of Staria cross-legged and shook the bag vehemently.

"Manin! Wydra! Hügin!" The words of power coursed through the air as Angela poured out the bones from the bag onto the ground. They did not seem like ordinary bones, however. They glowed faintly in the light.

_Adura,_ Staria prompted, a suspicion forming in her mind. _Are those…dragon bones?_

_Yes,_ came the response, _but I do not think they were acquired by force. Regal-dam-Saphira has mentioned this Angela figure before, and she can be trusted._

Staria fell silent, waiting for the odd woman to finish poring over the bones. Finally, Angela muttered, "Not as tragic as Selena's, not as contorted as Eragon's..." She looked at Staria, picking up one of the pearly pieces from the floor.

"Infinity or long life," Angela began, "but, as you are an elf, that was expected, yes? Here's where it gets more tangled. Traditionally the next one or two symbols represent race, such as a rock for dwarf, leaf for elf, and fire for dragon. You have a pair of lines parallel to each other, with one running perpendicular across it. I have seen this glyph before, but never in this context. Here I can only conclude that it means two but one."

"What exactly do you mean by that?" asked Staria.

Angela paused. "It means you are of two races, but are of one."

"Could it refer to the fact that I am a Rider?" Staria asked, revealing the palm of her hand marked with the gedwëy ignasia.

"Maybe, but I doubt it. This telling pertains to you and only you, dragon not included. Moving on from that…this symbol signifies that great emotional turmoil is ahead, some of which strikes you even now. At the start of this bone here is the symbol for nobility."

_Royalty?_ Staria wondered. _Could whoever had left me on that island be a noble? Or is it referring to Arya?_

"Ah…not so good. This slanted rose symbol represents that someone close to you will have a romantic relationship, but it will be shadowed by an enemy from your past whom you shall have to defeat alone."

Staria closed her eyes. This was more than she had ever wanted to know.

"One last bone. It is usually a summation of one's entire life, starting with your birth. You were born under special but extenuating circumstances, but I can tell you that both of your parents loved you very much. This shows your bond with your dragon, and this glyph that you recently embarked on a journey that will come to an abrupt conclusion."

"No, not like death," Angela clarified, catching Staria's eye, "the bone goes on. Again comes up the symbol of royalty, which is most odd. The last glyph reveals the most, although it is very rare that it actually comes up. Very few who have their fortune told are deigned to know this: your life will be overall a happy one, though it does not seem like it now. And that is the end."

"Thank you," said Staria seriously.

"You're most welcome. You're set to have a very interesting life, Shur'tugal."

"I should probably be going…"

"No, stay, stay, stay!" Angela thrust a mug of tea into her hands.

"Okay. I had another question."

"I cannot promise I will be able to answer it, but go on."

"What, if anything, do you know about a Rider named Staria?"

"Besides the fact she's you?" Angela looked at the elf seated in front of her slyly. "I know who you are."

"Okay, me," Staria said darkly.

"I know much information about you, but I would imagine you could tell me much more about yourself than I could."

"I—what?"

"For instance, what was the first species of fungi you ever consumed?"

"What does that have to do with this?"

"Nothing, but I find that tidbit of knowledge says a lot about a person."

"I don't know! Presumably not a poisonous one!" Staria shot back. She took a deep breath. "What I want to know is: what do you know about where I come from?"

"Oh, that. There's always been a lot of speculation among elves on the subject, if you weren't already aware. Some believe Eragon's story because he is Eragon and has earned their respect many times over. Others think you may be Eragon and Arya's daughter."

"Is that possible?" Staria tried to sound nonchalant.

"Well, of course, anything's possible... They did go off by themselves for more than enough time."

"The bones say they loved me very much. If Eragon and Arya are my parents, how come they never told me? Why did I only see Eragon one time until I became a Rider?"

"Most likely they wanted to protect you from exactly this kind of thing: self-identity crises, vicious rumors, and either getting overly stressed or depressed by everyone's high expectations or getting stuck up as the daughter of two Shadeslayers."

Staria nodded, taking it all in. The more she thought about it, the greater sense it made. She still felt slightly betrayed that she had had to listen to this Angela person to come to this conclusion, but she understood their reasoning. She tried it on. Arya is my mother. That one didn't shock her so much, having been raised by the queen. She loved Arya, and she was sure Arya loved her.

Eragon is my father. The thought filled her with apprehension, nerves, and excitement. Now that she had this suspicion, what was she supposed to do with it? Confront them? Hey, Eragon, I was wondering: are you my father? Yeah, not awkward at all.

_But maybe they're not my parents. Will I ever know for sure without asking?_

"What's your opinion?" asked Staria absentmindedly.

"My opinion? Ask everyone you know that might have the information before confronting either of them. But…Eragon has been moony-eyed over Arya since he first saw her in a prison cell in Gil'ead in his dreams. Arya, however, always rejected his advances, being almost eighty-five years older than he. I do, however, believe it is unlikely they found you on a deserted island. Yes, I am of the opinion Eragon and Arya share a deeper bond than they show."

_Breathe. Just breathe._ "Thank you for your opinion, Angela-elda," Staria said formally. "I should be going now."

"All right," Angela said, placing her hand on Staria's arm. "Just remember: no matter what happens, you always have a choice, and there is always have a way out."

**Thanks for reading. If you could take a moment to review, it would make my day! :D**


	6. Friend or Foe: Veyna's POV

**Greetings, all! **

Veyna shifted in her waking dreams, sensing that daylight had not yet come. She settled down in a more comfortable position. In her mind's eye, she was back in the glade where Kyra had given her speech a year ago. She could see Kyra's nervousness as she began, the speech interrupted frequently with unbidden memories of Veyna's own. _"I always wanted to be a Rider, since I was a little girl."_

The scene changed in her subconscious. _"I'm going to raise a dragon and save the world, just like Eragon!" shouted her twin, thrusting her tiny play sword in the air and charging Veyna once more. Five-year-old Veyna just laughed, attacking with renewed vigor. _

Suddenly she could see the green and pink eggs cracking open again, the forest with enthusiasm and the rose dignifiedly. _"Nuaen, her name is Nuaen."Kyra smiled, placing her hand on her dragon's back._

"_It's beautiful. Would you like to be called Istalri?" Both of their eyes danced with happiness gazing upon the two wondrous beings in front of them._

Next, on Gedwëy Evarínya. _"If you want an accomplice for breaking into the hall, go ask Soetrí or someone! You certainly spend enough time with him!" she heard herself saying._

"_Goodbye, Veyna." Kyra stepped backward, melting into the shadows and sprinting out of sight._

That was when the memories started to differ. The change gave them a blurry quality, but Veyna could still tell exactly what was going on. _"Istalri, stop pushing me! I'll do it when I feel ready!" She felt her dragon's snort of derision just before the mind was closed to her._

Then, something she recognized, but still distorted: _"Ky!" Veyna called, "What are you doing?"_

_Her sister ignored her and continued chanting, voice volume rising higher as her spell reached its conclusion._

"_Stop!" Veyna cried out. She could say nothing more as Kyra's enchantment reached its end and it was as if a noose had tightened around her neck. Gasping for air, Veyna could barely hold on as Nuaen slammed into Istalri, knocking her out of the sky. Words swirled frantically through her mind as she searched for a counter-spell from the jumble that was her oxygen-deprived brain. _

_Istalri raked her claws across Nuaen's exposed wing, cutting through the leathery substance like it was nothing. The dragon screamed and Kyra swung her blade forcibly at her twin, intent on inflicting as much damage as she could before they hit the ground, no matter what the cost. But it did not seem like Kyra behind the eyes, as if someone were controlling her, for her movements were jerky and uncoordinated. _

_Nuaen, however, was as dangerous and vengeful as ever. She's doing this, Veyna realized. Nuaen barreled toward her and the last thing she saw were the fiery eyes of the pink dragon before she and Istalri both were engulfed in flames._

Veyna woke with a start. Dawn sunlight was streaming in from the balcony and Staria slept as peaceful as ever in her bed. Outside, Adura and Istalri also lounged, but Veyna could sense the turmoil in Istalri's thoughts though they were hidden from her.

Later in the day she and her sister were hanging out under the shade of a large tree. They had sparred for several hours, but even the physical activity hadn't lessened the sense of impending doom in Veyna's mind. Kyra, however, didn't seem to notice Veyna's strangled silence. Veyna couldn't help glancing at Nuaen every so often, although she hoped the formidable and proud dragon wouldn't notice.

_I'm going hunting, _Istalri interrupted Veyna's thoughts.

_Okay. Is Nuaen going with you?_

_No._

As soon as Istalri's graceful green body had disappeared over the tree tops, Nuaen pounced on Veyna, pinning her beneath one giant forepaw. In that instant Veyna saw Nuaen in a different light—fiery eyes filled with fury, hate, and malice, every bone in her body wanting nothing more than to rip her to shreds. The pink dragon became almost impossible to look at, and panic boiled up inside of her.

_You've been looking at me oddly all day,_ Nuaen accused her. _Why?_

Before Veyna could answer, Istalri hurled herself down at Nuaen, blind to Veyna's realization and only perceiving the terror she had felt a moment before. Istalri grabbed the smaller dragon around the neck with her teeth and yanked backwards. From where she had been sitting, Kyra leapt up, words flying from her lips and magic cascading out from her hand in a rosy torrent. Istalri roared and rounded on Kyra as sparks of lightning shocked her wings and lit up the sky above.

"Stop!" shouted Veyna forcefully. All three paused and stared at her. Kyra still had the Ancient Language at the tip of her tongue and her dragon was halfway through a swiping motion across Istalri's foreleg. Istalri had her mouth open just the slightest bit, as if she had been about the breathe fire down on Kyra.

"Stop," Veyna repeated. "Istalri, I'm fine. Nuaen, sorry, she thought you were trying to hurt me. Kyra...well, yeah."

Kyra lowered her raised palm and cracked a smile. "No harm, no foul." Nuaen hissed at Istalri before sitting down to preen and lick her wounds. Istalri, however, hung her wings limply at her sides, as if to send Veyna a silent mewl. Without speaking a word Veyna concentrated on Istalri with all her might, ignoring the fact that they had started to heal but just thinking her intentions loud and clear. Though it had been dangerous, Veyna harbored a slight joy that her mind was trained enough to commence the healing with no deviation.

When she was done, she apologized to Nuaen, knowing she was not innocent of what she had been accused of, but did not mention the dream. It had no importance. That wasn't what had happened, and their dragons had brought nothing but joy into their lives.

0==]=======

It was only a day later that Eragon called her to him with a new assignment. "Veyna?"

"Yes, Eragon?"

"I have a favor to ask of you."

"Of course."

"One of the Urgal mentors had to return to Alagaësia for a short time to take care of family business," Eragon told her evasively. "Her apprentice, Vosk, is also an Urgal and knows little of the intricacies of the elves. He has a curious mind and is very eager to learn. Will you accept him for a few days?"

"I would be delighted to," Veyna smiled. "Where can I find him?"

"He is sparring with one of the other apprentices, Yulek, at the training field."

Veyna nodded and thanked Eragon for this opportunity. As she stepped out into the hallway from Eragon's room, thoughts besieged her like many bees swarming honey. Vosk! An Urgal, but an apprentice for a few days nonetheless. She had learned a few odd customs of the Urgals throughout her training, but she had never really interacted with one before.

It was easy to locate the Urgal on the training field because he and his female partner were the only ones fighting at the time. Though the battle was ferocious, only a few people had gathered to watch: two other Urgals and an elf. It seemed that even on Gedwëy Evarínya racial tensions ran through the dwarves, humans, and Urgals, though they had been steadfast allies working to topple Galbatorix twenty-five years ago.

Veyna stood to view the match, watching Tosk and Yulek spar. Yulek, she noticed, though also an Urgal, seemed to like to dodge and swerve as much as take the offensive. Her raven-hair was held back by a black hair band but flowed freely over her shoulders, almost reaching her waist. Her horns curled almost artistically over her head, a shiny copper in color.

Tosk, too, had jet black hair, but his was cut short and rough. Although clean and well-kempt, Veyna still felt a slight bit of apprehension as she observed the two apprentices. She had nothing in common with Vosk—culture, heritage—they didn't even look similar to elves! Humans, at least, despite the ruggedness, lower cheekbones, and overall weakness, had shared aspects of themselves. Urgals, however, were a completely different species entirely.

The two disengaged with a final parry and uppercut. The Urgal looked around almost self-consciously. He seemed to recognize her immediately. Vosk barred his throat as he approached her. "Ebrithil," he murmured.

"Come with me, Vosk," Veyna told him. Once the sun was high in the sky and they were both seated in the grass, she asked, "Now, where would you like to start?"

"I was wondering something," began Vosk. "The Urgalgra do not dream, but after a week of being here I had my first."

Veyna hid her surprise at the fact. She feared her education in the ways of the Urgals had been woefully sparse due to her lack of interest.

"Since I know nothing about dreams," continued Vosk, "are the Riders' dreams ever prophetic?"

"No," Veyna shook her head, "Though we are graced with many special abilities, that is not one of them. Dreams are merely fabrications of our subconscious, but do not belittle their importance because of it. Dreams, though they may show nothing of the future but a possible scenario, are to be reflected on and learned from. While you are asleep, your mind is free and unguarded to think about everything in a non-restrained manner at a most basic level. All of the races shadow themselves behind masquerades of nobility, clothing, ability, and knowledge, so much that we may begin to forget who we really are. In our dreams we are our true selves, and much can be gleaned from that. That is why dream analysis is so important to the process of learning one's true name."

"You are most wise, Master. But is it true that the elves know theirs instinctively? What use, then, do dreams have for the likes of you?"

"Dreams also contain information that our busy minds picked up during the day and stored for later use. Dreams are an important aspect of all of our lives."

"Can you tell me more about the elves?" Vosk requested. "Is it true that you learn two languages shortly after birth, not one?"

"It is," agreed Veyna, "Though we speak the Ancient Language natively, all are fluent in the language of humans. Most elves prefer the Ancient Language, however, because we may always know that whom we are speaking to is not telling a falsehood."

There was a pause in the conversation while Vosk digested all of this. "What gods do you believe in?" Vosk asked. "When I go to the temple, I see none that I recognize as for the elves there."

"Elves do not put stock in gods," answered Veyna carefully. She didn't want to crush whatever religion he had with her words. "However, the less liberal of us believe that the idea of gods, in moderation, is not a wholly bad one."

"What do you mean?"

"Taking comfort in the idea of a god and believing in them isn't harmful," Veyna explained. "In fact, being comforted by the thought of another, more powerful, being is watching over you might be inherently helpful. We look down upon, however, religious men who lay their problems down and expect some deity to take care of them, though they do nothing to help themselves."

"Are most elves liberal or like that?"

"Most, including our queen, are liberal…" Veyna pondered, "but I am of that opinion. Gods are real for those who believe in them, but not to me."

"Then what do you think happens after we die?"

"We enter the void," said Veyna simply. "Now, what were you learning with your master before she had to leave?"

"She was trying to teach me the meaning of respect," Vosk ducked his head.

"What do you mean?" Veyna asked.

"To the Urgalgra, respect is given to the winner of a fight," Vosk said. "By those rules, I respect no one here that I have not fought, such as Eragon."

"Fighting can earn respect, but it is more often gotten in other ways…" Veyna mused. "How do I explain this? Okay, try this: describe what you feel toward me."

Vosk eyed her for a second and paused, presumably conferring with his gray dragon, who was circling overhead with Istalri. "I trust you…" he began.

"That's a good start," praised Veyna. "Respect is—most of the time—based on trust."

"You are ebrithil," Vosk continued.

"Perfect! Respect can be defined as looking up to someone for any aspect of them, not just their battle prowess. Like admiration."

"Ah, thank you, Master," Vosk smiled sheepishly, showing his sharp animalistic teeth. "As my normal ebrithil is also one of the Urgalgra, she had trouble explaining the topic."

"No problem," smiled Veyna. "What else had you been discussing?"

"Well, we were just about to start Güliatic Theory."

"Güliatic Theory?" Vosk nodded and Veyna took a minute to recall the obscure scientific idea. "Güliatic Theory is an outdated elven theory on luck or good fortune…although a few of our houses still adhere to the principles. More of the other races subscribe to it, however. It was developed by an elf—"

_Sliaton,_ Istalri added from above.

_Wow, how did you remember that? _Veyna thanked her privately. _I don't even recall much on Du Fyrn Skulblaka!_

Istalri sent her a mental snort of derision and with a blink Veyna returned to her conversation with Vosk. "—a long time ago."

"But what exactly is it?"

"Güliatic Theory states that luck is an ongoing stream—envisioned as a stream of golden dust—that flows equally to each person at varying times from the stars. There was no such thing as bad luck, just a lack of good luck. Then, if an object or person was blessed for good luck, it would attract more dust from the area around it—that is, it would siphon off the luck of anyone nearby. Blessed objects could also collect luck for later use in this theory."

"Do you…adhere…to it?" the Urgal rolled the unfamiliar word around in his mouth.

"I do not, but that does not mean that it is not true or that you should not."

"Was it ever proven or disproven?"

"No. Experiments were done, but they only proved that it was a viable explanation of luck. That is, it agreed with all of their data, but they could not rule out other theories that worked just as well with the results."

"Most interesting, Master. Do you think we'll ever know how it really works?"

"Someday, perhaps. Now, is there anything else you would like to know, or should we get started with some spellwork?"

**Thanks for reading. Review if you can spare the time please!**


	7. Mission Aborted: Staria's POV

The plains below them seemed to sway with each flap of Adura's wings. Staria sat in silence on her back, mind impenetrable with a brooding look on her face. She was blind to the world as thoughts whirled through her mind. What if it was true? Would she ever be able to look him in the eyes again? He was her commander, as was Arya; if things got uncomfortable between them, could she remain a Rider? Of course, Adura would always be there, but could she leave the Order if things got unbearable? Was that even possible? Would they try to stop her? Would she be a fugitive for all of her infinite life, finally forced to vacate Alagaësia and all she had ever known forever?

She did not notice as Adura banked downward. Only when she tumbled off her back onto the grass did she awake from her stupor.

Reality seemed cold and hard, the world taking on a gray tinge. She lay where she was, no will to get up, do anything. Her mind, so inwardly focused, was a wall that none could break through. Instead, Adura caressed her consciousness with the lightest of touches. The first tear fell from Staria, wetting the earth. She pulled herself into a sitting position with a shuddering breath and Adura snaked comfortingly around her. Staria began to cry in earnest, hand pressed against her mouth, heart feeling like it would shatter in her chest. Finally, looking down from the starry sky, Staria's eyes met Adura's, loosening the tension in her mind.

_Will you be all right, little star?_ Adura's voice, full of love, swirled around her, filling her with warmth. Staria nodded, her head resting against her sapphire dragon's warm side, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

The next morning dawned all too soon. Staria awoke to find herself curled up by Adura's side, a small fire lit beside them, and a blanket from the saddlebags draped over her. Adura stirred and looked at her with somber blue eyes. Not meeting her gaze, Staria wrapped the blanket back up again and packed it away. She extinguished the fire with a careless bit of wordless magic.

Though she made no mention of last night—or of anything at all, Staria did not don her mental armor as she had subconsciously the day before. She hugged her dragon's neck and held fast. A low hum rose in Adura's throat. Staria turned away and mounted her, knowing that Adura could feel the full strains of sorrow throughout her being. Her partner-of-her-heart-and-mind was with her. They were whole once more, and now everything would be all right. Adura took off lightly, the charred remains of the blue fire shrinking below them.

For the first hour they were silent, companionable, but quiet. Then Staria at last broke the silence with a soft comment to Adura. After that they talked about trivial things, setting aside thoughts of Eragon for simpler things like the mission ahead.

Adura dropped a few feet in the air. "...went on that dragon's retreat," Staria continued. "Whoa, what was that?"

_Don't you feel it?_

_Feel what?_ Staria asked as they regained altitude.

_That...energy,_ Adura replied with a mental frown. _Come._

Staria was pulled from her own body into Adura's, the world tinged with hues of blue. It was as if evil resided below them, occasionally tickling their underbelly with insidious thoughts.

_Land,_ Staria directed, pulling back into herself. She blinked as Adura hit the earth with more impact than expected.

Her dragon shook her body, as if to rid herself of an unwanted passenger. _Below us._

Staria peered at the ground. _Where exactly?_

Adura pawed at the ground and hopped forward a couple of paces. _Here. It is strongest. _

Their minds melded as Staria worked the magic. A mound of dirt rose up from the ground and dropped a few feet away from them. Staria and Adura peered down into the hole.

_Look,_ Staria breathed. _Brick._

We have stumbled upon something important, Adura told her.

Staria jumped down into the hole, but instead of landing on her feet, she slipped straight through the solid brick to end up lying in a pile of dirt.

_Staria!_

_I'm all right,_ Staria gingerly got up and brushed herself off_. I'm in some sort of tunnel. It's very dark, but it ends here and extends on in the other direction. Maybe this is the entrance?_

_Is there enough room for me?_

_No, it doesn't look like it. _

Adura poked her head inside the cavern, almost skewering her Rider with her snout. _There is dark magic here. _

_Yes, I—_ Staria stopped as a flash of movement caught her eye.

_What is it?_

_I don't know. I thought I saw something. _Staria pulled Wydra from its sheath on her left side, holding it steady in the darkness, muscles tense. _Wait here. I'm going to explore a little farther in._

Adura acquiesced, removing her head from the hole. Innocent brick swallowed her up as Staria stepped forward, head swiveling from side to side as she continued along the tunnel. Something sharp pierced her shoes. She bent down to pick it up, coming up with a shard of black egg shell. It was surprisingly thin but amazingly strong, and, because of that, deadly sharp.

_A Ra'zac egg, _agreed Adura. _Come back. You have no idea how many there are in there._

_Judging by the amount of egg shell, lots, _Staria said.

_We need to tell Era—someone, _Adura told her. _We need more Riders or elves here. It's not safe for you to go in there alone without me._

_You're right, _Staria agreed, grudgingly turning back. "Flauga," she ordered. Magic lifted her into the air, sending her head and shoulders through the brick back to Adura. _Thok! _Pain pierced her calf and she momentarily lost control of the magic and began to fall back down. It was Adura who saved her then, snatching her up with one paw and depositing her on the soft grass. Breathing heavily, Staria looked at the arrow protruding from her leg. She had been shot before, but it hadn't hurt like this. That had been stabbing and throbbing, this was burning. _Seithr oil, _she realized. She yanked the arrow out and blood began to flow in a scarlet river onto the ground. Her head was becoming foggy, but she still was able to work the long bit of magic required to heal such a thing with Adura keeping her grounded and feeding her the words. At last, Staria sat up, eyes half closed with exhaustion.

"We found it," she murmured. "The holy ground of the Ra'zac."

_Scry. _

Taking a deep breath, she cast the spell, directing it to Eragon. The head Rider seemed eager to hear her news.

"How many would you say there were?" he asked.

"There were at least twenty-two large pieces of eggshell on the ground where I was, and more was littered further on," said Staria.

"All right. Return to Gedwëy Evarínya."

"What?"

"I'll send a squadron of Riders out there to take care of the Ra'zac. I want you here."

"I'm off the mission?" Staria burst out. "Why? Because I'm your daughter?" She had not meant to say it, but the look on Eragon's face scared her. She released the magic, letting him fade into her own reflection in the mirror she had used. Well, the cat was out of the bag now. If she was wrong, the humiliation would, no doubt, be mortifying. But if she was right…he knew that she knew. Nothing would ever be the same.

Nevertheless, Staria accepted the fact that she could not ignore a direct order, and that was what she had received. She was to leave the Ra'zac alone and return home almost empty-handed for her efforts. With the angry look still in her eyes, she mounted Adura.

"Let's go."


	8. Fairth Stenr: Veyna's POV

Veyna's POV

_I want to learn my true name._ Istalri's words came as both a surprise and a known fact to Veyna, who was sitting against Istalri's side. Her dragon's head snaked around and rested on the ground with her eyes closed.

_Sure. I can help—_

_No. This is something I have to do on my own._

_Okay. How?_

One of Istalri's eyes opened, a solid golden gaze affixing upon her.

_Not that you can't do it on your own,_ corrected Veyna hastily.

_Glaedr and Umaroth are going with some of the young Bjartskular on a retreat. _

_And you want to go, _guessed Veyna.

_I do. _

_Where is it? _

Istalri's eye closed again. _The tallest mountain in the Spine._

_That far?_

_Yes._

_What are you going to do there?_

_Discover our true names._

_How long will you be gone?_

_It depends on how long it takes._

_Can I go with you, then?_

_No, it is only for the dragons. We will not be allowed to communicate with our Riders the entire time._

Veyna swallowed. _I love you, Istalri._

_I love you too, little one._

_Not that you're asking permission, but I'm happy you're going. It's a noble quest._

Istalri let out a low hum and nuzzled her Rider softly.

_Where did you hear about it? _Veyna asked curiously. _I was with you for almost the entire time these last few weeks._

_The dragons at the games talked about it,_ Istalri answered.

_Ah._

_And my dam recommended it. _

_Did she go on one?_

_Yes. _

Istalri didn't offer any more information and Veyna didn't ask for it. They just sat there, enjoying one another's company under the shade of Gom's elm tree. Somewhere deep within the bark of the young but thick tree was hidden a gem of power, feeding the tree bits of energy every now and then. It was the life left in Gom's body after he died: part of the agreement between the elven and dwarven sections of the Riders. The bodies were encased in stone but their energy fed a tree and nourished another life. Gom had been Nuaen's sire, but Veyna was more comfortable under his tree than Evelyn's—hers brought up too many sad memories.

The following day, Veyna said goodbye to her beautiful companion just before she flew off in the thunder of dragons leaving Gedwëy Evarínya. The eldest dragon in the flesh accompanying them was Ouarn, a male a few years older than Istalri. No apprentice dragons were allowed to go, so Vosk's dragon stayed.

Already their link had been cut off so that not even the thinnest thread of emotions snuck through. For the first time in four years, Veyna was completely alone. Of course, they had separated their minds before, but the underlying feelings, no matter how thin, always remained. Now, she wouldn't even feel a great surge of panic on the other end. Alone.

The silence seemed oppressive, her senses limited. Her brain felt underworked, only having to process one set of information. Was this really how it always felt four years ago? The world seemed so...dull. The greens of the plant life were just green, not the vibrant hues of pulsing color seen through Istalri's eyes.

The room seemed lonely, emptier than it had ever been. Staria was off chasing her parentage with Adura. Istalri off chasing her true name with Glaedr. Veyna lethargically got up and began to dress, choosing a blue top with brown leggings. She almost never wore blue, but Veyna didn't think she could stand any more reminders—such as a green shirt—of her absent dragon. After belting on Esterni, Veyna descended, unaccustomed to using the stairs on Gedwëy Evarínya, and for the first time realized how big the place really was. On Istalri everything seemed smaller, distances shorter, but it was all large and looming over her now. She pushed the huge oak doors open to reveal the lush grass of the training field. She didn't feel like a morning repast, so she headed straight out into the melee to search for a willing sparring partner.

It was on the last field she strolled by that she encountered Shaiku. His pink dragon Sinta trailed behind him, darker than Nuaen but less fierce-looking.

"Istalri's gone?" asked Shaiku with an understanding smile.

"Yes," Veyna replied. "First day and I already want to call her back!"

"Yes, I remember experiencing a similar feeling when Sinta went," Shaiku said conversationally. His silver-and-black hair glinted in the sun.

"Like a part of you is missing?" suggested Veyna.

"Precisely. I realized later that a master will feel that way for a student as well."

"You mean Staria?"

"I had her longer than most." Shaiku laughed, then sobered once more. "She has a long road ahead of her. Mentors get attached to their students, after being responsible for them for so many years."

"I can see that happening," Veyna agreed. "Is that how you feel about Staria being gone?"

"When she was here but not my charge, it was better." He smiled ruefully. "It's rather like having kids. You want them to succeed without taking one step out of the nest. That and Staria has to deal with all those other things, too." He eyed Veyna sternly.

"You mean the rumors?"

Shaiku sighed. "So you've heard them?"

"And so has Staria."

Shaiku sighed again, this one of utter defeat. "I protected her as long as I could..."

"From the truth? Do you know it?"

"No, but I suspect strongly to one side." Shaiku's grimace twisted. "I've been around longer than most; I've watched Eragon and Arya for a long time. There was a reason that Arya brought a seven-year-old girl all the way to Gedwëy Evarínya to see Eragon. It certainly wasn't convenient for her, Fírnen, or indeed all of the älfakyn, but she did it anyway. That was not a whim."

Somehow, this tale had relaxed Veyna somewhat. "What was Staria like...at that age?" Veyna smiled in spite of herself.

"Staria? Let's see...I had been a full Rider for four years then, at twenty-seven. Arya lifted her down from the saddle as carefully as if she were her own newborn child. If I had to choose one word to describe her, I would say shy. She clung to Arya or Fírnen for the first couple days and wouldn't let go, not even for Eragon. Her hair was down and braided at the same time, the prettiest flowers of Tialdarí Hall woven in. Her face, when she would look at you, was clear and innocent as could be, green eyes somber. By the end, however, Eragon could pick her up and swing her around as if he were her own father. She was always laughing when she was with him and she was sad when it was finally time to leave. Eragon wasn't right for months after that, brooding and unfocused. He gradually got better."

"It really does look like she's their daughter," Veyna said wonderingly.

"It does. And there is no shame in that."

"But others might not view it that way."

"Precisely. For us elves, marriage is not a concept we adhere to, but Arya's reasoning would be questioned. She could lose the throne because she did not do the best thing for the elves with Staria. It also might damage Eragon, if the elves view it as a distraction from his duties. But for the other races, it would be a great shame to all, tarnishing Eragon, Arya, and Staria's reputations, maybe irreparably. Staria would then be scorned by the elves for being partly human, and she would never be accepted by the humans because she looks like an elf. There are no easy answers."

"If that were true, did she inherit any human tendencies?"

"I think not. Eragon was changed during Agaetí Blödhren enough so that his progeny would most likely be entirely elfin. But, of course, this is all speculation."

Veyna kicked at the ground with her foot. "Are we going to spar or not?"

"As you wish." Shaiku smiled thinly. "But first, would you care to see a depiction of that day?"

Veyna smiled. "Very much so."

With a whisper that floated away on the wind before Veyna's ears could catch it, the stone ready in Shaiku's hand trembled. He handed the piece to Veyna, who looked carefully at the colorful picture etched into the stone—an original touch to the classic fairth.

A girl stood there, clearly in motion, golden hair afloat behind her as she spun around and laughed. Blossoms of color were woven intricately into her hair, and whoever she looked at must have been very special to her, for in her eyes were only love and adoration.

"Thank you," Veyna said, proffering the stone back to Shaiku. "But wait—Staria's hair used to be golden?"

"Yes," Shaiku smiled. "That was its natural color. Arya's was the same way." He closed her fist around it. "You keep it," he said. "Maybe, someday, when the time is right, you can give it to her as a reminder of those good times."

Veyna, nodded, agreeing, then stepped backward as Esterni rasped out of its sheath.

Jumping in the air to land on her other side, the master's blade was out in an instant. A pale pink that bordered on white, the metal seemed to glisten and shine with warmth and homeliness in the sunlight.

She spun and stepped in with a thrust, bringing about a clang of metal that was soon lost the ruckus around them. It soon became apparent that a dragon played more of a role in a sword fight than Veyna knew. Her attacks seemed slower, uncoordinated, more tiring. She wondered if Istalri meant to help her or not, or if it was just a side effect of their being apart so long.

_You are only distracted,_ Sinta answered her unsaid question. The battle raged onward, not fierce or competitive as it sometimes was with Staria, but civilized and more about the form and grace than winning. As for Shaiku, he had a surprising good grip on the battle that she never would have guessed from his patient, reserved, and gentle forbearance that he was capable of such ferocity.

When at last they were finished, they once again exchanged bows and departed the training field. Veyna was too tired—both physically and mentally—to do much after that but eat a small meal and meditate on her bed. Though it only increased her sorrow, Veyna insisted upon searching every crevice of her mind for even a trace of her absent dragon. There was none, not a distant feeling, not a tiny thought left in secret, waiting for Veyna to become desperate enough to find it. She fingered the rock Shaiku had given her before setting it on the desk.

The next morning, she sat for hours on the balcony overlooking the activity of Gedwëy Evarínya. Down below, a few sparring matches and dragon tussles were taking place. By the dining hall, Eragon and Saphira were finishing packing up the next two eggs to be sent out into the dragon Amethyst's saddlebags. They were destined for Tronjheim. There was a maroon and a yellow egg still waiting to be assigned to a race in the Hall of the Eldunarí.

There were dragons everywhere. Here they were essential to everyday life. Where did she fit in, when Istalri was gone. Where did the Indlvarn, Riders who had lost their dragons, fit into this life? Did they have a place in this world of flying, of slashing talons and dire missions?

_You belong with me, Istalri, _Veyna thought. _How could I ever work here without you? I feel useless to the Order until you return. But I guess I shall have to learn to function without you…_

**Thanks so much for reading!**


	9. Red: Adura's POV

**Sorry. Short, I know. But if you want something during Finals week, this is what you're gonna get! :P**

**Note: For a small portion of this to make sense, you have to know that I added a couple lines to the ceremony Staria and Adura went through to become full members of the Order. It just adds some stuff about partner of the heart, mind, and soul, both speaking and listening at the right moments, pledging to the Order, and other stuff like that. Not a big change.**

Adura's POV

Adura obediently crouched on the ground to let Staria swing up into the saddle. Once the familiar weight of her loved-troubled-Rider had settled into place, Adura leapt forward, spreading her wings to their full extent to bring them up into the air. She fluttered her right wing for a second, adjusting it to suit the headwind. Her tail swished out behind her, helping her keep her balance.

The wind whipped through Rider-Staria's brown hair as she sat in the saddle gazing off into the distance. Her back was completely straight, brow furrowed slightly. Adura could feel the tumult of thoughts in her head. Feelings flashing red, jumbling the rest of it until it was barely coherent.

_What's done is done, _Adura thought. Her partner-of-her-heart was hurting, and the words from her vow came back to her:

_Do you, Adura, take Staria to be the partner of your heart, mind, and soul, promise to speak when the moment is right, be silent when it is not, and forever respect and honor her? Eragon asked._

It had seemed so simple then, but now she was only confused. _How do I know if the moment is right? Maybe it'll all work out, and I should just keep silent. How am I supposed to know?_

Adura was silent in heavy-wing-strong-wind-flight for a minute or two, Staria oblivious to it all. _She needs help, _Adura agreed with herself, _and I am the only one here to help her. So I must speak. Right?_

The sapphire dragon swooped into the clouds and out again giving a shine to her scales, but even the cold water droplets stinging her Rider's bare arms did not wake Staria from her stupor. _Little star? _Adura asked tentatively.

_Big dragon? _Staria replied, a hollow echo of their old joke.

_You are mine, and I am yours. No matter what happens, know that._

_I know. _Staria paused. _What did Angela mean? What is the feasible way out of this?_

_Talk to him._

Staria fixed Adura with a green glare. _You know why I don't want to do that._

_It is the only way I can think of. _

_What do I say? Moreover, I'm scared…scared of what _he'll _say. _

There was a pause. _Everything will be all right. I promise. _

_I trust you._

Adura flew on, just hoping that she was right, and that she'd be able to keep that promise.

**I'll try to update both faster and longer next time. Emphasis on **_**try**_**. :)**

***Update: Nah, just looked at the next two and I like them just the size they are. So nevermind. :P Faster, however, yes.**


	10. Test My Spine, Spine: Istalri's POV

Istalri's POV

Istalri concentrated on listening to the sound of gold-Eldunarí-Glaedr's voice reverberating through her head. Every dragon's eyes were closed, their bodies still. Not even a leaf rustled in the absent breeze. They had flown all the way with no rest, and Istalri suspected most of the dragon's greatest wish right now was a nice comfy place to sleep. Just as she did.

Concentrate, now, Glaedr-elda's voice was lucid and fading, as if he were getting farther and farther away. It slowly faded into oblivion with the words: Start from your earliest memory…

Her earliest memory. It was not of sight nor smell, but a feeling of warmth. Of protection. Of adoration for her dam, Celestí, whose comforting wing she was nestled under. It was dark and confined inside that green-and-gold egg, but it was not a scary danger-lurking-dark.

The next was of rhythmic movement, up and down, and a familiar voice speaking to her and another as they…flew. _We must have been flying, _she realized.

Then the flood of memories started. Paw-no-claw-hands touching her, caressing the egg in which she huddled ensconced. Then _her._

Istalri remembered a surge of power with that touch, as faint and fleeting as the rest. She felt as her Rider had felt after receiving the gedwëy ignasia. Every part of her body tingled, white hot fire in her veins. She knew she must hatch. Then the scraping began. Hours and hours of frenzied, monotonous clawing at her shell. First she cut through the soft, thick inner membrane and then the hard outer shell. As Istalri burst out of the egg, all she saw was light. It flooded her eyes, blinding her momentarily. Then the world came into focus. Following her instinct, Istalri had identified Veyna as her Rider. Seeing Veyna for the first time had enchanted her like nothing else.

It was all a blur after that, getting her name, the fire on the Crags, learning to fly. Istalri followed Glaedr's next instructions without hesitation. _Sleep._

When Istalri awoke, she and all the other dragons were in exactly the same position as before. Their muscles, however, were not sore; she had kept them loose and untense all night.

_Think back to your dream. _

Istalri went back, struggling to remember. It had been dark and cramped. Had she been in an egg once more? She could hear garbled words being said in what had seemed like a strange, lilting language, but she could not make out the individual words or who was saying them. The words stopped and there was a pause. Then she was being remade, for a purpose. It was then that her quest began—to the find the partner-of-her-heart-mind-and-soul.

It made sense now. At that moment in time she was being reformed inside her egg to one day become Bjartskular, not a wild dragon. She wondered who had made that decision. Celestí-fire-belly-dam or Trayim-fire-roar-sire? Both? She would have to ask her mother when she returned.

_Awake, _Glaedr commanded. We must begin the day. With the rustle of wings and the grating of icy scales—a condition, in its severest form, called frostscales—the clearing came to life, though none but Glaedr said a word. All were tranquil and quiet. _Fly, fly, fly as high as you can until I say stop. _No doubts ran through Istalri's mind as she rose up into the air. The air was already frigid and thin and would become more so at higher altitudes, but she did as she was told without question.

Her breaths became labored and her wings felt heavy. That mountain, the tallest in the snow-tree-Spine. She was well past the highest cloud when Glaedr called stop. They were his puppets, and he was their master. At last, Istalri plummeted down toward the earth like a rock. Fiery-energy-adrenaline surged through her muscles—she was going to crash.

_Uplift, uplift! _Her entire instinctive being screamed at her as the ground whirled closer. An inch above the dirt-rock-snow, Istalri halted, feeling as if the air whistling by her had condensed into viscous honey. She dropped safely into the dirt along with the other dragons, falling like so many tear-wing-hailstones.

The trust-fall had not harmed them in the slightest, so when Glaedr commanded them up again a dozen more times, she followed through. Finally they landed for the last time, muscles burning with exertion. But there was no respite. Glaedr seemed determined to work them until they were as tired as they had been when the long flight to get to the Spine was over. Still, he was not mean, and there were no complaints, especially at sunset, when they reflected upon their feelings toward the closest they could come to facing death.

Fear? Acceptance? Regrets? Anger? Every aspect of themselves had to be bared before their eyes. And if they could not come to terms with that unique part of who they were, they could not hope to discover their true name.

Istalri examined all of the feelings running through her. Tiredness? Well, yeah. Sorrow? Of course, her partner-of-heart-and-mind was days away. Fear? No, not since the first drop. Initially, yes. Did she think that was a bad thing? Did she curse that part of her as being too undragonlike? Istalri took a moment to be sure. No, fear was an aspect of all creatures. After all, it is only a problem when it is incapacitating. Thirst? A little bit. Regrets? Not really, although she missed Veyna. Acceptance? Yes, but that may have just been because Glaedr was in charge of it. In a real situation, she might be angry, sure.

A short while later, Glaedr commanded them to sleep with a single word: _Slytha_. Istalri was out like a light.


	11. Tears of Zar'roc: Staria's POV

Staria's POV

When Adura's talons had barely clacked on the balcony that she shared with Istalri, Staria leapt off and went inside. Thankfully, Veyna was not in the room, and neither was Istalri. It wasn't until she was in the hallway and down two flights of stairs that she remembered the emerald dragon was at Glaedr's retreat. Aware that a worried Adura watched from the balcony, Staria strode out onto the grass, the tips tickling her sandaled feet. She walked across the training field normally as if nothing were wrong, but as she waved to casual friends and acquaintances she kept wondering if they, too, were party to the rumors about her. Veyna. Veyna was her only true friend. No matter what happened, she was sure Veyna would never betray her.

Staria walked briskly through the dining hall and out the open oak doors. To her left was a small lake of clear blue water, to her left a mini forest. She headed for the young trees amid the older birch and aspen. A few Riders wandered among the trees, as these were the last aboveground remnants of their lost Shur'tugalar from the battle with Rasib. Only one tree had been added to their number since then, an Indlvarn who had been slain in an attempted assassination of Queen Nasuada. The Nighthawks had been enough to protect the queen, but not her from the spirit-summoning sorceress.

Stepping lightly, Staria approached her dwarven friend with her hand on the tall sapling. They greeted each other with an amicable nod but stood in silence. Eventually the girl wandered off, leaving Staria to herself. She did not notice him until he spoke.

"When you walk, you walk alone," a voice commented softly, "just…just like your mother."

She turned around to see him. His light brown hair slightly askew in the breeze, ears poking up from it, pointed just slightly. His brown eyes were somber as he held out his hand to guide her onto Saphira, who had just landed next to them. She didn't want to go. She didn't want to go with him, to hear what he had to say. But it was Saphira. Adura's mother. She let him help her up onto the large dragon's back.

The first thing she noticed was that she was very close to him in the saddle. Out of respect, he refrained from encircling his arms around her, like he had when she had first come to Gedwëy Evarínya. She had been seven years old then, and it was the first time she had seen Eragon since she was a baby. Arya and Fírnen had been pretty much the only parents she'd had, although she and Eragon had written many, many letters. Then, of course, she had come to be a Rider apprentice and had seen him all the time.

The only thing keeping Staria from shaking as she stepped down onto the fifth floor balcony of Eragon's room was the slow mounting of anger that was building up inside of her.

"So it's true?" she asked, her voice unnaturally loud in the silent room. Eragon's back was to Staria, and for a moment he didn't answered her.

"Yes," he released the answer in one long pent up breath. He turned, to face her. He slowly met her green gaze.

In the secluded confines of his room, Eragon knelt before her. He looked up into her eyes, his own full of regret and sorrow. "Staria…Dröttningu. Staria…Aryasdaughter…" His blue eyes filled with tears, full of the sad, beautiful, tragic story that he wanted so much to tell. To make her understand. "Can you ever forgive us?"

Staria looked at him numbly. "I don't know." Eragon flinched, as if he had been stabbed. "My entire life has been a deception. Shur'tugal Vinr abr Wydra." Though not complete, the words that once set her body tingling now only roused a dull ache inside of her now. Eragon's eyes widened in recognition. "The first part of my true name. Changed, now, hasn't it?"

Staria spun around and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her. He should've said no. He should've denied it; it all would have been so much easier. Outside, Adura waited on the roof, kneading her talons into the cool stone.

_Little star—_

_And you!_ screamed Staria angrily. _You didn't pick me because I was the "one" for you, you just did it so that Saphira would be happy with your Rider because I'm Eragon's daughter!_

Passive Adura roared, knocking Staria over with her snout aggressively. The blue-tinged-green dragon clamped a paw over Staria's body, forcing her Rider to look straight up into her sapphire eye. Though Staria kicked, clawed, and bit to free herself, Adura didn't seem to notice the pain at all.

_I chose you because you are the one. You are Staria. You are— _Adura spoke her true name, sending jolts of electricity through Staria's body. _You are the only one I wish to be bonded with, and not because of who your parents are. Are we understood?_

Staria was silent for a moment. _We are._ Grudgingly Adura removed her paw and Staria got up and dusted herself off. _I'm sorry I yelled at you._

Adura hummed in response as her Rider placed a hand on her back. _I love you, little star._

_I love you too._

"It's just…I can't deal with this right now!" Staria turned away, jumping off the ledge onto the training field many feet below. She must have used magic to slow her fall, but she honestly didn't know. Something made her swerve into the hallway, up four flights of stairs, and burst into the room of her beloved mentor, Shaiku.

"Staria, what—?" Shaiku stopped, frozen at the look of her tear-streaked face. He held his arms out to her. "You talked to Eragon, didn't you?"

Staria just nodded as she walked into his comforting embrace. She did not know how long he held her, whispering that it would all be okay in her ear and stroking her hair with his hand. She just knew that it was exactly what she needed right now.

**Thanks so much for reading! Much love to you all!**


	12. Lonesome: Veyna's POV

**Sorry for the long time with no update! I got really, really stuck on this chapter…which explains why it's so short. Thanks to Brimo for the fantastic ideas!**

"Greetings, Vestira," Veyna bowed slightly. "Atra esterní ono thelduin."

_Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr, _the crimson dragon replied haughtily.

"Un du evarínya ono varda," Veyna finished. The dragon eyed her before swooping off into the sky.

"Sorry about her," apologized Sorrell. "She doesn't think much of things without scales."

Veyna smiled, glad that the man before her seemed nothing like his dragon. It wasn't the first time since the Games that she had seen Sorrell; he had hung around Gedwëy Evarínya for nearly all the time after that. He was older than her, she was sure. His features were humanly rugged but slightly elegant as well—probably a byproduct of his bond with Vestira.

"Anyway, so if you're done with that book..."

"Sorry, drifted off…what?" Veyna asked, momentarily confused.

"If you're done with the advanced spellcasting book, I'll take it."

"Oh, yeah, of course." Veyna hurried to her desk to fetch the book. "Here you are."

"Thanks. They had the scroll version at the library down yonder but not the book. I don't know how you elves can stand reading off scrolls. Ugh." He shuddered.

"It's so much nicer!" Veyna argued. "You don't have to flip the page every time after you read the small block of text."

"Then why did you have the book instead of the scroll?" Sorrell questioned.

"There was no scroll when I was there," laughed Veyna.

"I see," he waggled his eyebrows at her. "Say, do you want to get a bite to eat with me?"

"Umm, sure!" Veyna replied almost automatically.

The dining hall was fairly crowded that night. After waving to a few friends, Veyna and Sorrell sat down across from each other, each with a steaming plate of food. For the first time since Istalri's departure, she didn't feel invisible. Shaiku had looked like he wanted to tell Veyna something, but stayed away when he saw that she had company.

It wasn't often that she ate with a guy; usually she was alone or with Staria. Occasionally she had eaten with Taeri and once with Shaiku, but she was pretty sure that was a different matter entirely. Veyna wasn't quite sure what to say, but luckily he seemed on top of it.

"Tell me more about elven culture, Veyna," he suggested. "I never quite got that whole system of Houses thing."

After that it was easier, the conversation flowed from one topic to the next.

The next day, Veyna scryed Kyra, who was in Tronjheim. Her sister laughed when Veyna first asked her for advice.

"He was just this nice guy, at first..." Veyna tried to explain. "Then we shared a meal together, and I don't really know where to go from here."

Kyra smirked. "Learn more about him, ask questions, answer his. It's not hard."

"But it just feels so...weird."

"Look, it's gonna feel odd the first few times you hang with him. Relax. Enjoy it."

"Really? That's the best advice you can give me?" Veyna scoffed.

"Hey, why are you asking me, my last relationship didn't turn out so well, in case you missed that," Kyra shot back.

"All right," Veyna nodded. "Good luck with the dwarves."

"Take care."

Veyna dropped the connection, letting Kyra's image fade away from the mirror. She took a moment to mull over what her twin had said. Then she walked straight out of the room, running smack into Sorrell outside.

"Sorry!" she said as she sprang up from the cold stone floor.

"You're not sorry," he laughed as he helped her up, "but apology accepted."

"What are you doing here?" queried Veyna.

"Oh, I was going to scry my sister back home," Sorrell answered.

"Oh, okay," Veyna said, smiling. "I won't keep you then."

"Talk to you later," he bade goodbye. He ducked into the scrying room and Veyna continued down the hall. Only then did it occur to her: Istalri would be returning in a couple days! She couldn't wait to see her forest green dragon again. Though it had only been a couple weeks, it felt like years since their minds had last touched. She would be whole once again. Veyna smiled happily at the thought.

**Hopefully the next one will go out soon! Thank you all so much for your continued reading!**


	13. Partner of My Heart: Adura's POV

Adura's POV

"Come on, we're going," Staria said. Adura acquiesced with sorrowful eyes, standing still as Staria fastened on the bulging saddlebags.

The crisp morning air whistled around them as Adura waited patiently at the very top of Gedwëy Evarínya. Below her, an expanse of grassy land stretched, turning into a forest on the right and a small lake on the left. Not far beyond that spread out the wide ocean, sun sparkling off the clean waters. From behind her came the din of every morning sparring matches and the occasional pound and metallic _tong _of smith-elf-Rhunön.

Staria mounted her azure dragon and Adura gently lifted off into the clear blue sky. Gedwëy Evarínya became but a speck below them as her Rider unfurled the map. She tapped the place where they were headed—the far reaches of the Hadarac Desert, where the most remote Urgal villages resided.

It did not occur to Staria the resemblance between this and another mission—a rash decision, fighting Urgals—but it did to Adura. Except Galbatorix's dragon had died. That wasn't going to happen this time around, Adura vowed, but did not know how best to prevent it.

_Speak now, _the voice in her head said as the wind carried her over the crystalline lake, but she could not. Staria was her Rider, and this was something that was obviously very important to her that Adura did not comprehend. In dragon culture, Adura would have been proud to know that her heritage was so prestigious, no matter when she learned of it. But apparently not in pointed-ear-no-tail-elf society.

Partner-of-her-heart-Staria had overheard Eragon, Shoban, and Tiaga discussing the small tribal war that had broken out between two of the furthermost Urgal settlements. Shoban, an Indlvarn, and Tiaga, a dragon whose Rider had fallen in the battle against Rasib, had not been ready to go, however, and would have to wait a couple of days before departing. Staria, all too eager to get out of Gedwëy Evarínya, had left at once without bothering to ask permission or even inform the head Rider. She merely went.

Staria leaned forward in the two-person saddle, forcing Adura to adjust the tilt of her wings slightly to compensate. For some reason, Adura had always preferred to fly with a double-saddle instead of a single—it fit her shoulders better and provided more balance.

Besides that one sentence ordering their departure, Staria hadn't spoken a word since accusing Adura of only choosing her to please Fírnen and Saphira. Adura didn't know what to do besides go along with Staria's plans. She was in a very fragile place right now, she could feel, and telling Saphira or Eragon where they were going would surely be viewed as an act of extreme betrayal by her distraught Rider.

So Adura flew. Sparkling water passed in waves below her, cool and inviting. But they were on a mission. A reckless, unauthorized mission, but a mission nonetheless.

No words were exchanged at all between them for the next ten days. The cool waters had a long long since passed to be replaced by grassland and then the cold, crisp air of the Hadarac Desert.

The blandness of the sand-scale-polishing-dunes below them shifted in the wind, but besides the occasional hardy plant there was no life below them. Supposedly nomads lived in this barren place, but Adura saw no sign of them or their temporary living areas. Adura drifted downward slightly, unsure of the size of the Urgal villages they were looking for and not wanting to miss them.

There was no chance of that, however, for after another few minutes of flying, a savage war cry abounded across the wind. Below them, hundreds of black banners flourished to life, and the clashing din of fighting began. The Urgal villages shared the shade of a large, unscalable mountain that marked the end of the desert, where sand turned to dirt and grasses began growing again.

A shrill shout abounded below them. The furthermost hut's window was quickly covered by the terrified girl at home, but no one on the ground bothered to look. They all were too intent on the enemy in front of them.

It was unclear what the horns-and-hair-Urgals were fighting for. Urgals were not much for large battles, as they preferred one-on-one fights to earn personal glory. The mountain provided more than enough shade and protection for both villages, more than a mile apart. Wells were not scarce either. So why did they fight each other? It was time to find out.

Adura roared, announcing their arrival with a spurt of fire.


	14. Partner of My Mind: Istalri's POV

Large-gold-Eldunarí-Glaedr sat atop a rock, but to Istalri it felt as if he were standing over her, watching her every move. Istalri strained, desperately trying to extend her wing into the ridiculously difficult position into which Glaedr had commanded her. Her wing felt as if it would snap in two if she pushed it much further.

_Enough, _Glaedr said. _Tomorrow we shall be starting the journey back home, but remember the exercises I have taught you. Few dragons can learn their true name in such paltry days as we have._

_Yes, Glaedr, _the dragons murmured in unison. Istalri clawed at the frozen dirt with her talons. She did not know who had discovered themselves as of yet, but she could not help but feel behind despite Glaedr's reassuring words.

Her belly had long since stopped growling with hunger and had reconciled itself with the absence of food for the length of the retreat. The dragons drank only from the icy stream nearby first thing in the morning. They were now allowed two hours of free time each day, although sleeping, eating, and talking were strictly forbidden. Very-very-old-wise-Umaroth usually led flights out over the Spine and taught the history of the peoples of Alagaësia while Glaedr spoke of the history of the dragons during a meditative period.

Most of the time Istalri stayed to hear the tales of Glaedr, but today she did not feel like listening. She was on the brink of something wonderful and her body itched and tingled whenever she got close. A mounting excitement was building within her.

_Who am I? _she asked herself. It came to her as a whisper of thought, daring and playful, beautiful and spirited. She said nothing to the other dragons but she felt Glaedr's pride wash over her a few seconds later. The excitement was draining away now, leaving her with a sense of contented peace. She swiveled her head around to lick one of her sage-colored scales near her chest. The small barbs on her tongue slipped into the place between her scales perfectly.

That big-circle-moon-night, all was quiet except for the deep rumbling of the dragons' breathing, although if dragons older than seven years had been there it would have been a much more deafening noise. Glaedr roused them at the crack of new-light-dawn and began the flight at once. Istalri's calm state remained and she felt no inclination to speak to anyone on the way back despite the fact that it was still forbidden.

Five days later, land was spotted below them once again, as they had taken the seaward route back home. The thunder of dragons glided smoothly down, returning from their long retreat. A host of other-being Riders awaited them with cheers upon the ground and many hugs and pats were given. Istalri searched for partner-of-her-mind Veyna and found her standing next to Vestira's-partner-Sorrell. Veyna engulfed Istalri in a long hug.

_I missed you! _her Rider exclaimed.

It took Istalri a minute to find her mind-thought-speak-voice. _I missed you as well, _she hummed.

Their minds one once again, Veyna offered, _Do you remember Sorrell?_

_I do. _Istalri was happy to see Veyna again, but she felt slightly haunted by her experiences with Glaedr. She had come back a different dragon.

_I've been spending a lot of time with him since you were gone. _A host of memories streamed into Istalri's mind but instead of trying to watch them all carefully and miss most, she glanced at each before returning her attention to her Rider.

_He seems nice, _Istalri commented.

_He is. You should meet his dragon sometime, she's a handful, _Veyna grinned. _How was your retreat?_

_It seems almost…untouchable now. Surreal. But: _Veyna's eyes widened as Istalri shared the precious knowledge she had gained.

_Istalri! That's amazing!_ Veyna exclaimed. _So it was worth going?_

_Of course, _Istalri snorted before nuzzling her Rider, _but I'm glad to be back._


	15. Secret of the Hadarac: Staria's POV

**Longer chapter this time. Yay! Enjoy :D**

Staria's POV

The fighting below paused as all of the beings below stared up at them in fear. As one the Urgals began to stream in towards the mountain, the underside so dark that Staria could not tell what lay there. Catapults, perhaps? Did they think to knock Adura out of the air? Her dragon gained altitude again, and Staria could feel her preparing to stream fire straight into their nest. It was then that she could sight of him. The captive red dragon of the desert.

She gave no order. She gave no consent. Adura simply reacted, barreling down toward the dragon. His wings were spread out, pinned at the tips, extended to their full length. His eyes were closed, exhausted, and he didn't even try to lift his head or flick his tail to Adura as she landed in a spray of sand beside him.

Chinr whined softly. Adura nosed him frantically, trying to get him up, but the crimson dragon was too tired. Staria jumped down from Adura's back, approaching the former enemy more cautiously. Even when she jerked at the stake pinning his wing to the ground, Chinr didn't react. He just looked at her, his once fiery eyes doleful and defeated.

She thought back. The last time she had seen Chinr was…when Nuaen turned wild? No, Adura had seen him in the battle with Rasib. Soetrí and Chinr had been the two unaccounted for at the end. Is this where Chinr had ended up?

Staria began to assess the damage done to the wing membrane by the crude metal stake driven through it. It had gone straight through the large vein that ran there, tearing the sinew and muscle beneath it. The only reason the dragon had not yet died from blood loss was that the stake was pressed against the wound, working to stop the flow. Even so, she would have to work quickly to save his wing—or, indeed, to save his life.

Staria tugged at the stake with all her might until it came flying up with her hands. Hot blood gushed from the wound, pooling and sizzling briefly before sinking deep into the sand. Though Staria spoke the Ancient Language natively, she feared she did not know enough about the physiology of his wing for the powerful words to successfully heal it. She augmented it with a steady stream of images of healthy, unbroken wings, hoping it would be enough. The vein sealed up first, then the muscle and tissue closed up around it, to be covered with tiny new scales. The damage had been slight, just in an unfortunate place.

Chinr merely closed his eyes as Staria removed the second, third, fourth, and fifth stakes. Two per wing, and one on the tip of his tail. This one was by far the worst; it looked as though the Urgals had stomped on it in order to crush the smallest and thinnest bones in a dragon's body. It was Adura, really, who saved Chinr this time, working the magic herself and pouring several tons of energy into him. Free at last, Chinr swiveled his head to stare at the dark mountain. He was obviously feeling better, though his head still sagged and he was painfully thin.

_Thank you, Staria. Thank you, Adura._ His voice rumbled through them. After one last glance at the mountain, Chinr curled up where he had lain for so much time and closed his eyes.

_I will bring you something to eat, _Adura promised, taking flight into the sky. Staria had no choice but to stay with the ruby dragon, who said nothing more and slept the night away. It gave her more than enough time to brood on things she would rather not think about.

Angela's words echoed in her head. "No matter what happens, you always have a choice, and there is always have a way out." Of course, there were many ways out. She could always leave them all far, far behind. Or stay hidden in the Hadarac Desert forever. But weren't there any options that didn't involve giving up everything she'd ever known? Was it really her destiny to wander the world alone with Adura?

Her dragon returned with the first light of dawn carrying several deer in her jaws. _I could not find prey for leagues, _she explained to Staria. _Though the desert end here, all the prey stays far away. _She set down the deer gently on the sand, then asked, _How are you?_

Staria just shook her head, unable to hide the pain in her eyes from her watchful dragon. "Let's just focus on Chinr for now, okay?"

Adura dipped her head and tore a strip of meat from the body and held it out to him. At the smell of meat, he looked up. He cocked his head at the meat, as if unsure what to do with it. It saddened Staria to see a once noble creature reduced to this. He finally accepted it slowly and ate it. He refused any more after his third, eyes downcast. He curled back into a spiky ball and Adura lay down beside him. Staria placed a hand on her dragon's side before climbing to the top of the dune separating them from the Urgals.

She surveyed the landscape, not even pausing as an Urgal archer aimed at her and fired, his black feather arrow missing by about ten feet. She threw it back at the shooter. It missed, but it was enough to send her attacker scampering away.

The Urgals had surrounded them in a complete circle. The archers readied their bows and the swordsmen sharpened their blades. Though Urgals of both villages joined in the circle, they did not seem to be working together. In fact, in the few seconds she watched, three brawls had broken out. Uniformity did not seem to be the Urgals' strong suit.

_I'm going to talk to them, _she informed Adura. The blue dragon agreed sleepily. Staria checked her wards before walking toward her adversaries. She did not draw her sword, for she had no quarrel with them yet, as she could not for sure conclude that it was they who imprisoned Chinr. But if they wanted a fight, they would get one. The sight of her walking so calmly toward their army clearly frightened the nearest Urgals, as they stepped hastily out of her way as she approached. "I wish to speak to your leader."

"Elf, I am he." The largest Urgal spoke, his voice grumbling. His horns were polished and shiny, though the tip was broken off one of them. His shield was covered in spikes that looked suspiciously similar to the ones that had held Chinr captive. Bristle-hair covered his arms and uncovered areas by his chest plate. "I am Barok of the Regghvik tribe. I have defeated many enemies with my bare hands, including some of your kind. I broke off a piece of my own horn to kill an entire herd of beasts for meat when I was young. Now that you know who I am, leave this place now or we shall force you in a most unpleasant manner."

"Your name and your titles mean nothing to me," Staria said. "For I am not merely a lost elf. I am a Rider. I came here to quell the war between your tribe and the other under the mountain. Tell me, why were you at war with each other?"

"They staked claim to what was clearly our prize," Barok growled. "The Shur'tugular should stay out of things that are not their business."

"What was this prize?"

"We had captured the deadliest of beasts, red as the noon day sun, and as fierce as a pack of wolves. A dragon, for our very own. We could torture it, make it serve us…none would dare attack a tribe with a dragon!"

"Your war is over," Staria said coldly. "I am taking custody of the dragon. He is not a prize, nor a beast to be servant to the likes of you. Your war is over. Now, get out of my sight!"

A hailstorm of arrows met this response, all of them blocked by her wards. She turned and left, ignoring the wars cries left in her wake.

_That was badly handled, _Adura greeted her, _but effective. _

Staria shot her dragon a look. "Don't start, okay?"

It was evening again when Chinr woke up. He growled and shook himself, then reared to his full height. For the first time, Staria saw the underside of his chest and belly. The crushed area momentarily took Staria's breath away, and a growl of alarm emanated from Adura. It was as if a large metal ball had been lobbed at him and had crushed the bone and scales together. It was a few feet wide in diameter and a foot deep at its furthest point. The terrible wound wasn't bleeding, however. The damage had been inflicted long before their arrival, and it had healed in that awkward shape.

Chinr gingerly licked that area before tearing into the carcass of the first deer. He was halfway through the second when he looked up on his haunches, like a rabbit that had just sensed danger approaching. His head turned to the top of the hill behind Staria.

"Well, don't mind me," the treacherous elf said. Staria spun around to face him. Soetrí.

**Thanks for reading. Hope you have a great day!**


	16. Vestira: Veyna's POV

**:D**

"How does Istalri feel about this? I mean, about us?" Sorrell asked. He was stretched out on the grass next to her, staring up into the clouds.

"What do you mean?"

He turned his head sideways to look at her. "You're not spending as much time with her as you used to. That's gotta do some damage to your relationship, right? Does it bother her that you spend some time alone with me?"

"I...never thought about it." Veyna paused. "Does Vestira?"

"Ha. As if. As far as she's concerned, the less time she spends with lower beings such as her Rider the better." He grinned. "Sometimes I wonder if there was some mistake and she was meant to be a wild dragon."

Veyna laughed. "Istalri says that as long as I'm not flying the skies on _your_ back, we can do whatever."

"Cool," Sorrell replied, returning his gaze to the clouds once more. "What was living in Du Weldenvarden like?"

"Well, my little town was called Taíthos," Veyna began, the thought of her old home bringing a small smile to her face. "It was fairly close to Ellesméra. Kyra and I learned stuff together there as children."

"What?" Sorrell asked.

She looked at him.

"You frowned slightly."

"Oh...it's just that she was always better than me at all of it." Veyna forced herself to end the sentence with a small laugh.

"She's not better than you anymore," Sorrell assured her.

"You haven't even seen us fight!" Veyna protested, but was secretly pleased with the compliment.

"No, but I've seen you," Sorrell smiled, taking her hand and beginning the trace the lines on it with his light touch. The conversation lapsed, each of them just finding pleasure in the other's company. Sorrell spoke again. "I was an emissary to Queen Nasuada for all that time when Istalri hatched to the battle with Rasib. You don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but I've met Kyra-she doesn't seem the type to be easily fooled. How did Soetrí cloud her judgment that much, to make her believe she was enslaving her dragon?"

Veyna paused, then answered carefully. "She loved Soetrí. She...she said that it was more that he planted seeds of doubt in her mind, and she couldn't rest until they had abated."

"But couldn't she just ask Nuaen?"

"Soetrí told her that the dragons may think they're happy, but it's only because they don't know any better. He claimed if she released Nuaen, the dragon would be much happier. In makes sense, in a demonic way, if you think about it."

"Nuaen believed it too?"

"She trusted Kyra's judgment."

"I understand now," Sorrell said softly. "It must have been very hard for you, watching your twin...slip away from you like that."

"It was."

Sorrell glanced up at the sky. "It's getting late. We should go back."

"Okay," Veyna agreed. "On the way, tell me about the time _your_ little sister was carried off by a bear."

"What?" Sorrell laughed. "Where's you hear about that?"

"Around," replied Veyna mischievously.

Sorrell was just finishing the tale when they reached Veyna's door. He kissed her forehead. "I'm only me when I'm with you," he sighed happily. "See you tomorrow?"

Veyna smiled. "See you tomorrow." She shut the door with a click and walked over to her desk, where an interesting-topic, dull-book lay open. She sat down and pulled it towards her.

_Dragons' breeding habits are one of the most intricate and complicated things in the world. Scale color, thickness, and type are all much more valued than any mortal can understand. Offspring are everything to wild dragons, desirable mates are fought to the death over much of the time, and abilities are everything. Some of the more coveted traits select dragons possess include long talons, unusual scale color, and sharp spikes. A dragon with long talons, for example, might flat-out refuse to breed with a short-taloned member of their species. _

_Scale color is a bit more confusing. It is apparent to researchers that each dragon inherits two colors from their parents and then passes one on to their child. It is not clear, however, how it is decided which one will get passed on or which one will show up in the scales of the offspring. Other times, instead of one color appearing, a red dragon coming from a long line of red dragons mating with a white coming from a long line of white dragons will produce all pink offspring, meaning that the two colors had blended. This is also true for red and gold, red and blue, and green and blue, but not always. Nobody knows what determines the final color of the dragon's scales, but it has been decided that the rarest colors are silver and white, because they are always masked when combined with another color. _

_Spikes are another example of the dragons' inexplicable…_

Veyna's head hit the desk, asleep.

…

Someone shook her gently. Veyna awoke with a start, the morning light streaming in from the balcony blinding her momentarily. Sorrell stood over her. "Really exciting book you're reading, I see," he teased.

"Not as bad as the one that spent two hundred pages talking about how the earlike structures on the heads of baby dragons elongate into wisps as they grow up," Veyna yawned. "How late is it?"

"Not very. Still a couple hours until noon. I knocked…" he added sheepishly, gesturing to the door. He looked around, taking in her bed, the papers on her dresser, the fairth stenr on her nightstand, and Staria's belongings and empty bed. "Do you have a roommate?"

"Yeah, her name's Staria," Veyna answered as she shut the book and stretched.

"Off on a mission now?"

"…I don't know," Veyna replied. "She's…she's going through some hard times in her life right now. She could be on Gedwëy Evarínya but coming and going while I'm asleep or she could be somewhere else."

He touched her arm. "I'm sorry."

"Staria'll be fine," Veyna said confidently, trying to shake off the dark feelings she got when she talked about Staria's predicament.

"Okay. Breakfast?" Sorrell asked, holding out his hand.

"Starved." She took it and let him lead her off to the dining hall.

Over a couple of buttered rolls and an apple, Veyna asked, "How long have you been a Rider, anyway?"

Sorrell paused, as if counting, before answering. "Five years. I was chosen by Vestira at fourteen, like you. Since you're three years younger than me, you've been for…two?"

"Yes," Veyna nodded. "Where did you grow up?"

"Cithri." To her look of confusion, he added: "It's in Surda."

"Ah. Tell me what it was like. How does the average human in Surda grow up?"

Sorrell laughed but agreed. "For starters, my mother and father didn't educate me themselves. I went to a school."

"School?" Veyna queried on the unfamiliar word.

"Think academy," he offered. "No? Imagine here, but instead of a mentor you have classmates all in one room being taught by one person. In my case, it was a Langfield government official. But the Ancient Language wasn't taught there at all, and neither was magic."

"Then what did you learn?" asked Veyna incredulously.

"Reading, writing, history…" Sorrell listed off.

"Wasn't it incredibly boring?"

"Immensely," he grinned.

…

Veyna was sitting, talking with Shaiku when Eragon burst in, all semblance of cordiality forgotten. Shaiku rose halfway from his chair at the slightly deranged look in Eragon's eyes. "Shaiku, have you seen Staria?" he asked.

"No, no I haven't," Shaiku answered quickly, "Why?"

"I can't find her," Eragon replied, voice slightly panicky now.

"Maybe she's just hiding from you," Veyna told him knowledgeably.

"Did you tell her the truth?" Shaiku asked reasonably. "If so, I imagine she is until she can make sense of it all. You're not hard to hide from."

"Something's happened. I just know it."

"Well, I haven't seen her either…not since we talked about going to Angela…" Veyna trailed off.

"She went to see Angela? As in the herbalist?"

"Yes," Veyna omitted the part about Staria's prophecy. That was private.

"If you see her," Eragon said, the fear in his eyes undiminished as he issued one of his rare orders, "tell me. Immediately. And tell her…tell her I'm worried about her." If she disagreed, would sparks fly from his eyes? Fortunately, she never had to find out.

"Of course," Shaiku agreed, rising to his full height.

"Veyna," Eragon addressed her directly, "I know you two are close. Could you…please…?"

"Okay," Veyna replied, nodding. Eragon left the room, absentmindedly leaving the door open as he went. When he had gone, Veyna glanced at Shaiku, then crossed over to the mirror on the other side of the room. "Draumr kópa," she uttered softly. The mirror faded to black, but did not portray Staria as it should have. Reaching out with her might, she could detect the subtle traces of her friend in the magic, and it was very powerful. Even if she and Shaiku joined forces she doubted if they would be able to break through. It was crafted, not in haste, but with a single minded intensity that rarely occurred except in one whose one emotion overrode all else.

Veyna let the surge of magic go, wondering if Staria likewise—if she even cared—would be able to sense that it had been her who cast the spell. She hoped so. Staria deserved to know that even when all seemed lost, she still had her friend.


	17. Soetri: Staria's POV

**Hey, all! Thanks for reading! You have no idea how much it means to me :D**

He cocked his head looking at her. Combined with his thin smile, his pointed ears gave him a devilish appearance. "Thank you for healing Chinr," he said in the Ancient Language. Staria felt no need to respond in kind. "How are you, Adura? Beautiful as ever, I see." Adura bared her teeth at him, poised in a crouching position.

"Why couldn't you heal him?" Staria asked.

"Because, if I released him, I'd have a horde of nasty Urgals after us," Soetrí answered. "It seemed easier to, well, wait for them to have their war and diminish their numbers a little bit."

"Chinr was _dying_," Staria shouted.

"He was fine," Soetrí responded dismissively. "Now, Staria, are we going to get out of this thrice-blasted wasteland or not?"

"Maybe the three of us will, and leave you here to rot!" Staria fired back.

"Aww, Chinr won't leave without me," Soetrí smiled, "Will ya?" He slapped his dragon's side with his hand. Chinr snorted, a stream of smoke coming out of his nostrils.

"Besides, Chinr isn't well enough to leave," Staria grumbled, "but you're a traitor, so get out."

"He's just as much a traitor as I am," Soetrí shrugged.

"Chinr—"

The elf cut her off. "I know what's plaguing you, Staria."

"I—what?"

"Parental issues. Identity crises."

"Just GO!"

"We could leave it all behind, you know. Screw Eragon, screw the rest of them. Just leave them behind; let them eat our dust. Nothing could stop us!"

She stared at him, struck without words for a second. Struck with how good that sounded.

In her silence, Adura roared, rearing at Soetrí. He backed away, still smiling, before loping over the dune and out of sight. "Think about it!" His cry floated along the wind until it reached Staria's pointed ears, snapping her out of her trance.

"Don't worry, Adura, I'm not going with him," she promised. "I've learned my lesson where Soetrí's concerned."

Adura eyed her before crouching down to keep watch, staring off in the direction of the rogue Rider.

The next morning dawned bright and early as the sun started its ascent to the peak of the sky. Chinr was back to his exhausted position, and Staria reassessed their options. Originally she had thought that Chinr would be strong enough in a day or two to fly at least out of the desert and away from the Urgals. Now she could see that it would take at least a week, plus they had Soetrí to deal with. No doubt he would try to stop them.

"Breakfast, Staria?"

Speak of the devil. "Scram."

"Do you remember the time...?"

"I said shut up, Soetrí!" Staria exclaimed.

"...I picked you all those berries," Soetrí continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "and you baked them into the cake." Staria shook her head, trying to clear it of the memories that threatened to flood her brain. "Or the time where we just sat there, the whole day, by that crystalline lake," Soetrí continued.

"Stop it, Soetrí," Staria repeated. "I don't want to remember those days. I never want to remember those days. You and I are done. We have been for a year now. We are never _ever_ getting back together, not in a million years, no matter what sweet lies you whisper in my ear! Ever."

The evil elf did not seem surprised at all. "But don't you remember how it was, Staria? The carefree days…" He took an insidious step closer. "…we could have them back again, Staria, if you would just join me." He was only a few feet away now from where she stood rigidly. She could see it all flashing through her mind, snippets of happiness lost in a whirlwind of memories. He was standing right in front of her. She could smell the soft musk of his own design on him and could stare directly into his ruby eyes, still red from Rasib's power. "We could go back and do whatever we wanted, together, no one could stop us." Before she could flinch away, he stroked her stiff jaw line with one finger.

That was it for Staria. Turning to the side, she smacked him in the chest with one powerful kick. Soetrí flew backwards, hitting a tree with a dull thud. He healed his wounds without saying a word, but remained on the ground, looking up at her as she stalked forward. "I was dreaming for _so_ long." Her voice was growing louder, soon to be shouting at him. "I wish I knew then what I know now. You're a snake, Soetrí! You were calm, loving, in control, strong, powerful…Arya almost recognized you for what you were. I knew you were trouble, did I? I knew what I was getting myself into?" She hit him across the face with the butt of Wydra, her sapphire-hued sword.

Soetrí's demeanor changed. Drawing Domia, Dominance, faster than Staria thought possible, he attacked aggressively. His brutally thick sword was wielded with absolute ease, smashing Wydra down and to the side. She leapt backward, attempting to parry but instead was swatted away like a fly. Adrenaline and anger fueled her body and she began to assail his mind. The musical chords of his thoughts banged against her almost causing her concentration to slip enough to let him through without even trying. Its beats were so loud she was amazed his head didn't shake with the volume of it.

Staria took a hefty risk and stepped in with her right foot and jabbed at Soetrí's midsection, at the same time unconsciously causing the air surrounding them to crackle with energy, kveykva. Flames burst in a long tunnel from the point of his sword only to be put out by the stream of water that erupted from her left hand. Magic was part of it now.

Staria muttered the twelve death words under her breath as she stabbed at his dancing body once again, but his manic grin only widened. Finally, she broke through his wall, edging her way firmly into his mind, making it as painful—and thus not easily removed—as possible. Soetrí faltered as she fought for control. Her attack on his motor skills and thought process abated as she forced him to remove his wards. His lips moved without his direction: _waíse andlát_.

He fell to the ground, sinking to the dirt. For a moment, he lay still, unmistakably dead, but neither of them had a single mark on them. Slowly his skin began to fade to translucent until all that was left of him were his black battle garments.

_Be death_, Staria reflected, turning back to Adura. _Not a well-worded phrase, but it had some interesting results. Death is the void, and the void is nothing, so Soetrí became…nothing. That should be added to the archives. _

_Little star,_ Adura murmured. _Chinr and I are ready to go if you wish. _

_Yes._

_Where?_

_Gedwëy Evarínya? _Chinr suggested.

_No, Du Weldenvarden, _Staria countered. _Ellesméra. _

_Will you talk to Arya?_ Adura queried.

_Yes._

Adura waited patiently as Staria mounted her back. Chinr lifted off first, rising into the azure sky like a crimson, newborn eagle—slowly and unsurely at first, but then higher and faster as the thrill overtook him. Adura launched herself after him, almost slamming into his flailing tail that he was using to compensate for the weakness in his wings. Staria tucked Domia into the saddlebags, its sanguine hilt poking up through the gap.

She didn't know why she took it from the remains of his clothes, looked at it, and sheathed it for their departure. A trophy, perhaps? Nay, she wanted nothing more than tell it to _waíse andlát_ as well and destroy it once and for all. Maybe she would ask Rhunön to melt it into scrap metal for daggers and such, but the thought of part of Soetrí living on in every weapon on Gedwëy Evarínya sickened her. Though brightsteel, the starmetal used to make the Riders' swords, was scarce, she knew that most likely it would just go into the archives along with most of the swords of the Riders of old, like Brom and Vrael, not smelted into something else. That was what had happened to Rasib's sword.

She couldn't keep her eyes off of it as the fringe of trees at the edge of Du Weldenvarden loomed ahead. She pulled the infernal thing out of the bags and stared at it. Not so long ago, the blade had been covered in an obsidian coating, representing his loyalty to Rasib, but now it was back to its vibrant scarlet. The sword seemed to reek of malevolence, as if its master was staring up at her.

Staria fumbled with the thin silver casing around the cardinal jewel in the pommel. The metal shifted unwillingly with her fingers, until with great strain she was able to pry one of the bands loose. She repeated the action and finally extracted the rubicund gem, comparing it to ripping out his heart of hearts. The sword she would return to Rhunön, but the ruby…

She strangled it in her hand, then leaned over Adura's side. She took one last look at it, with new cracks blossoming across its surface. She let it roll off her fingertips onto the faraway ground below, and with her heightened vision she watched it shatter into a million pieces.

Staria glanced down at her hand. A line of scarlet blood ran off of it, and in her palm lay one deadly shard of the ruby. It was about the size and shape of an arrowhead. She stared at it for a long while, then carefully placed it into Adura's saddlebags.

It was going to be a long five-days' journey.


	18. Clouded by Love: Veyna's POV

Three months. The room seemed cold and lonely without Staria there, livening it up. Istalri missed Adura, too, but at least her friend was just along for the ride—not confused and tired, like she was sure Staria was. And yet, there was nothing Veyna could do to help her. She had not the slightest inkling of what to say, even if she did decide to fly all the way out to Ellesméra and speak with Staria. What was there to say? Come back…be here? That would just sound silly and desperate.

Instead, Veyna had been spending less and less time in their room, returning only to sleep. She was keeping busy as best she could, however, whether it was long walks in Weldenhljödhr, as it was sometimes called, or the Silent Forest. Other times she was flying or hunting with Istalri—although most of the hunts filled her with distaste at the killings—or spending increasing amounts of time with Sorrell.

At first it hadn't weighed on her that much. Sure, she wished to help her friend, but it hadn't seemed as serious as it did now. She had expected her to get over it relatively quickly, but obviously she had underestimated the emotional turmoil this would cause. It came, she thought, from their difference in upbringing.

Staria believed she had been found by Eragon and Arya and then taken back to Ellesméra to be raised by Arya. She had grown up treated somewhat like a Dröttningu, inducted into the House of the queen through rites so long unused they were almost forgotten. No one had been inducted into their society for so long that the eldest elves had to be asked for the proper words and ceremony. She was raised by Arya Dröttning, so Veyna supposed that she had been left on her own for parts of her childhood, although she doubted Arya neglected her in any sense of the word. Every move she made was closely scrutinized by the formidable elven nobles, making even the slightest mistake was irremissible. Somehow, this thought brought an image of a young Staria, about ten or eleven years old, riding on a white horse through the think foliage of Du Weldenvarden, looking straight ahead with her back completely vertical and her posture perfect almost to a fault.

Veyna, on the other hand, had nothing but her studies and general courtesy—which, granted, was extensive—to worry about. This accusation, though not really directed exactly towards Staria, went against everything Staria was taught in childhood. Nothing about having the child brought any attention to Eragon, Arya, or their progeny—marriage was not a recognized bond for the elves—but the subterfuge under which it was all done would've raised the eyebrow of even the friendliest of elves. The queen was supposed to put her people before all other matters and bearing Eragon's child in secret went directly against that.

It occurred just then to Veyna that the elves were now under open scrutiny by the other races besides dragons: humans, dwarves, and Urgals, all of whom subscribed to the ridiculous notion of marriage. Though the elves claimed to not care what the other races thought, as they were far superior to them in many ways, appearances did matter now that they were a part of Nasuada's court. Furthering what Shaiku had said, not only would it tarnish the reputations of Arya, Eragon, and Staria, but the opinion on the entirety of the älfakyn might be adversely affected.

No, she decided, Staria's reaction was not unjustified. And yet…

"I'm not going to do that!" Veyna objected loudly. "I know you're scared, I know you're hurting, Eragon, but I won't do it. I'm not going to betray her like that."

"It's an order, Veyna, not a request," Eragon growled. "You are to fly to Du Weldenvarden, pick her up, and _bring her right back here_."

"You know where she is; she's safe! Why must she return here?" questioned Veyna exasperatedly.

He ignored her. "She's been gone for three months. Three whole months. It's time for her to return home, to quit hiding from her Rider responsibilities."

"I don't think it's her Rider responsibilities that she's hiding from," Veyna couldn't resist responding back through clenched teeth. "It's you."

"Fetch her and bring her back here," Eragon said in a dangerous voice, "Forcibly if necessary."

"What if Arya negates your orders when I arrive?" Veyna asked, grasping at straws now.

"She won't," Eragon promised. "Saphira, come." He beckoned to her with one clawed hand before stalking off into the hallway and slamming Shaiku's door behind him. The majestic blue dragon paused, regarding Veyna with sorrowful eyes.

_Do as he says, young one_, she spoke softly. _My daughter Adura will help you. And do not judge too harshly of partner-of-my-heart-Eragon. His mind is clouded by love and worry._ Saphira left Veyna standing there as with a whoosh of her wings she took off after her distraught Rider.

"What should I do?" Veyna asked, turning to Shaiku, Sinta, and Istalri.

_Go, _Shaiku's light pink dragon advised.

Shaiku nodded. "You and I are probably the only ones who can get close to Staria now."

With a heavy leaden heart for what betrayal she was about to commit, Veyna nodded and mounted Istalri.


	19. Mother: Staria's POV

With a whoosh of her azure wings, Adura landed softly in the clearing before Gilderien the Wise.

_What is your business here?_ the voice asked. It was not hostile, but weighted with immeasurable amounts of time and wisdom. Yet it was not weary, but fresh and alert.

_I have come to see Arya Dröttning, _Staria answered tonelessly.

_Ah, yes. I suspected the day you arrived here would not be far off. She is awaiting you. You are always welcome in Ellesméra, Staria._ Gilderien dipped his head to Chinr, then Adura as she passed, bits of green forest life glinting off the scales whose coloring had been influenced by that of Fírnen. Staria walked on, trailing an unseen path through the thick foliage. An elf woman stood at the entrance to her home, watching them pass. She stared at Staria the longest, however, which was odd. Usually elves were more entranced by the presence of dragons. Apprehensively, Staria glanced back over her shoulder, but the mysterious woman was gone. Staria went on until at last she stood before the flowered gates of Tialdarí Hall. She swallowed, looking up at them, but stepped through the floral musk barrier with ease.

As if her presence had finally been discovered, Fírnen arose like a giant emerald beast and surveyed the trio. Adura hopped forward and he greeted her with a touch on the nose before immediately turning his gaze back to the other two.

_Go inside_. He spoke to Staria, Staria alone. _Your mother is waiting for you._

Staria's muscles clenched; Fírnen had known all this time as well. She started in, but paused as Fírnen looked Chinr up and down, processing the crushed chest and exhausted look in his eyes. His gaze hardened as he recognized the once-traitorous member of his species. To everyone's surprise, Adura let out a small growl. She bared her teeth and advanced forward a step, forcing Fírnen to back away from Chinr. He blinked an eye at her, his wings unfolding somewhat to billow at the side of him in a common gesture of nonviolence. An unspoken question was present in his eyes, but she merely held her ground. Fírnen lowered his head ever so slightly in a signal of acceptance. It was not submission, for all dragons would never willingly submit to the superiority of another, but it was a sign of respect for his daughter. He returned his amber gaze to Staria, who hurriedly ducked inside.

Bright Erisdar illuminated the long hall, but Staria could've been blindfolded and found Arya's room. The queen, however, lightly touched her when she was no more than halfway across. Staria stared up at her…at her…at her _mother_. She opened her mouth to speak, but Arya laid a warm finger on her lips, shushing her.

"We shall not talk here," Arya intoned softly. "We will not be disturbed in Oromis's hut."

Staria fell into step beside Arya as she walked, taking in the crisp morning air laced with the subtle scents of the forest and the flowers of Tialdarí Hall. They passed the edge of Ellesméra. A lone elf with hooves plodded through the greenery, leading behind him several ponies. The ivory manes shook as they trotted onward, Geldwin calling back to them, "Kausta, kausta!"

An elven lady rode on the princely back of the final one, long raven hair obscuring all but the tips of her pointed ears. She sang a sweet, lilting song as they went, inclining her head towards the queen as she passed.

"Tauthr du gata vrangr," she melodied. "Gánga unin du datia, hlaupa thornessa dag unin welden! Atra onr hjarta flauga un waíse ládrin. Hlaupa, hlaupa, hlaupa unin du fells, hlaupa unin du vollar, hlaupa eom losna du islingr!"

The procession passed, the elegant white ponies stepping lightly by, their pose serene and confident. The elf woman's song faded away, lost in the distance.

"Come," Arya murmured.

When they arrived at Oromis's hut, Arya stood for a minute at the window, looking out. "The Crags of Tel'naeir have regrown."

"I know."

Both of them paused, unsure of what to say and almost afraid to break the silence for fear of what it might turn into.

Finally, Arya spoke. "I'm not going to force you to go back to Gedwëy Evarínya or try to convince you to go back."

Tight-lipped, Staria just nodded.

"But I will allow Xiana-svit-kona to inform Eragon of your presence here. She saw you arrive, but sought my permission before sending word back about you."

"Must you?" Staria asked through clenched teeth.

"He has been very worried about you," Arya confided. She touched her daughter's hand fleetingly as she sat down across from her. "Why do you seek to punish Eragon? If there is anyone you should be angry at, it is me."

"Tell me. Tell me why."

"Do you remember reading about the exodus of the dragons in their first home after the Battle of Urû'baen? It occurred about seven years after. Eragon had begun rebuilding the Riders upon the land Mirana, far east of Alagaësia. A large storm appeared on the horizon, but they thought little of it. If it hadn't been for the timely warning from Valdr—the eldest Eldunarí still alive—they would all have been wiped out. Even so, more than three quarters of the wild dragons perished in the storm when it hit land. The winds uprooted trees out of the ground and knocked dragons out of the air with such force that most died instantly. Mirana was so large that Eragon could not gather all of the wild dragons in time for their escape. The survivors—all but two bonded dragons and three Riders along with thirteen wild dragons—returned to Alagaësia temporarily."

Arya paused, then continued on. "Eragon asked for my help in finding the Riders a new home, planning to head west of Vroengard. I agreed, leaving Lord Dathëdr in charge. After seven years of nearly constant duties in Du Weldenvarden after Galbatorix's demise, both Fírnen and I longed for adventure as I had had before the days of my queenship. It was on this journey that you were conceived and born.

"Eragon and I discussed what was to happen from the moment I knew. Eragon and I had differing opinions on what the best course of action was. He believed that we should raise you openly as our own, but I thought differently. He was haunted by his history with Brom and his own uncertain familial issues. We agreed that I would raise you, as the Riders' home was no place for a baby or a small child, and I could not abandon my people. Seeing as you would be living amongst the elves, Eragon accepted that I had the most experience as to what you would go through. I chose the subterfuge you live with because I could not bear to see you struggle with what I struggled with in my early years as Dröttningu.

"I was the only daughter of Islanzadí Dröttning and late Evandar—big shoes to fill, and with the elves even worse. I was always expected to act better than my fellows, do better, be better. For a while, it changed me, and not in a good way. I didn't want you to have to live with that kind of pressure—silent, but all the more expectant because of it. You are the daughter of the queen of the elves and the killer of Galbatorix, the two who were going to rebuild the Riders from nothing, and Shadeslayers both at that. It was a…state of grace."

"Who else knows?"

"Besides whomever you told, only Lord Dathëdr and Fírnen. Dathëdr caught me offguard and I could not think of a suitable phrase in the Ancient Language when he confronted me. Others may suspect, however, but no elf would dare voice their suspicions."

"Do you remember…when I was six, and asked you if you were my mother?"

"Of course. I almost, almost told you then. Do you remember telling me you wished Eragon was your father?"

Staria stared hard at Arya for a moment, then dropped her gaze. "Yes."

"I am sorry, Staria, but I do not regret my actions. I love you, Staria, and I was only trying to protect you."

"What…what do you expect me to do now?"

"Whatever you wish to. As I said before, I will not force you to go back to Gedwëy Evarínya. You may tell everyone openly by accepting the title of Dröttningu, or you may tell no one and keep all of this to yourself. It, unlike a few years ago, is your decision and yours alone, though it does affect Eragon and me."

Arya stood, indicating Staria should do the same. "Let us go. Fírnen tells me we are expected back at Tialdarí Hall."

"What about Chinr?" Staria asked, remembering the blood-red dragon for the first time.

Arya took on a faraway look, then said, "Fírnen grudgingly assures me that he is no threat, so he may stay here with you or go back to Gedwëy Evarínya as he chooses, to become a wild dragon or remain as he is with the Riders."

As they paused at the door, Arya took Staria's hand and made to look her in the eye, but her daughter hugged her tightly instead. "I love you."


End file.
